Better Late Than Never
by chancewriter
Summary: Over 20 years have passed since the war ended and Draco Malfoy has lost so much: 4 millimeters off his hairline, 5 years of his freedom and 6 months ago, his beloved wife. Now he's struggling not to lose his father and his son too. How can Hermione Weasley help? And more to the point: should she? A look at how Draco & Hermione could've gotten together after that horrible epilogue.
1. Prologue: Rose

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Started writing this as a way to merge canon and my ideas of how Draco and Hermione could possibly come about after that epilogue.

The chapters will vary POVs between Draco and Hermione with guest POVs from Rose, Scorpius, Al and Harry.

Btw, I usually write very long chapters. This chapter is the shortest. There are about seventeen chapters.

This is my first Harry Potter fic. Go easy on me.

Also: Thanks to **cdb33** for her summary and for reviewing each of my chapters! You are a true supporter!

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**Prologue:** Rose

The fact that Mr. Malfoy does not explode into ashes every time he steps into sunlight never fails to amaze me. He is so pale, just like Scorpius. As a matter of fact, I am positive that this is what Scorpius will look like when he gets older, minus the slightly receding hairline and pale grey eyes. Scorpius once told me that he has his mother's eyes – a light blue mixture of hues that looks stunning with his light blond hair. It makes him look stereotypically Swedish and like he should be named Björn Overström. Instead he's named Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Hyperion! It cracks me up every time.

I step off the Hogwarts Express and onto the platform trying my best to see Mum and Dad. The steam is rolling in through heavy waves and for a moment the only person I see is Mr. Malfoy walking under the skylight, the afternoon sun lighting up his dangerously close to Albino features, and then he is gone as the steam shifts and blocks him from view. I stop as the steam blocks all vision and Scorpius walks right into me as he disembarks.

"Still searching for ways to touch me, Scorpius?"

"Yes, I've been planning that one for months. Finally my life has meaning, Froggy." He says drily. I hate that nickname! You have one accident in potions and you're nicknamed for life! I turn to give him my best glare. Surprisingly he doesn't melt into a puddle of skin and blood with my acidic stare, but is instead looking off into the distance. "Oh oh," he says and I turn to see what he's talking about.

Oh oh, indeed. I see my Mum standing on the left side of a column and Scorpius' dad is standing on the other side, completely oblivious to my Mum's presence. They're both looking around for us, trying hard to see past the fog of white steam. We know as soon as they see us they'd walk forward and...well, I have no idea what would happen. Anyone who knows the barest of the Second Wizarding War knows that Hermione Weasley nee Granger did not get along with Draco Malfoy, to put it nicely. But that was ages ago and they haven't spoken to each other since. Scorpius and I both stand stock still unsure of what our next move should be, when suddenly I am pushed forward by Scorpius, again, after Al walks straight into him.

"What the heck are you doing? Who stands at the bottom of the stairs in front of the door?" He grumbles, but stops short when he realizes that it was Scorpius Malfoy that he just walked into. Scorpius gives him a look of exasperated annoyance that he does not spare for long before he turns his attention back to his father who by now has spotted us. Al mumbles some sort of awkward apology before he tries to squeeze past us, but just ends up pressing up against Scorpius which then forces him to press up against me. We all turn to briefly glare at Al, whose face is now red like his Mum's hair. Mr. Malfoy walks forward and so too does Mum. They both reach us at about the same time. I hear Al's grunt of pain from when Scorpius quietly elbows him away and whispers,

"Back off."

"What are you doing just standing there?" Mum and Mr. Malfoy say simultaneously and the look on their faces has got to be the funniest thing that I've seen all year. They both seem to think that they invented those particular words and look affronted that someone else would dare use them. Their eyebrows shoot in the air in surprise when recognition hits. There's a loud grating noise and no, it's not the Express' brakes. Rather, it's a sound akin to the scraping of nails on a chalkboard and I can barely believe that the awkwardness between my Mum and Mr. Malfoy is almost audible.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

They've officially run out of things to say to each other and they move on from incredibly awkward and extremely weird as they turn their attentions to their respective offspring. Mum says to me,

"Move away from the doorway. You're causing a pile-up." She tugs me away from the doorway and for the first time notices Scorpius behind me. She stops and gives him a sad smile.

"Hi, Scorpius,"

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," From the corner of our eyes we all see Mr. Malfoy pause. I chance a look at him and he looks like he wants to say something but has decided against it.

"So this is the famous Scorpius Malfoy. It's a pleasure to _finally_ meet you. I've heard _so _much about you." Why did she have to stress on the 'so'? My face goes red when Scorpius gives me a look and a smirk before he says,

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person too."

I want to disappear into a puff of white smoke, sink into the ground, morph into the background of the train, anything to avoid the smug look on Scorpius pale, pointy face. But then, Mr. Malfoy speaks.

"Oh, Granger you couldn't possibly have had it as bad as me. When he first met your daughter in first year, I threatened to cut off my ears and mail it to young Ms. Weasley here so I could hear her speak about herself instead."

Now the look on _Scorpius'_ face is priceless. I officially think that Mr. Malfoy could not be that bad. Mum lets out a snort of laughter, looks shocked at herself and tries to cover it up with a cough. Mr. Malfoy looks mildly confused and slightly amused. Scorpius looks like he's seriously contemplating whether he'll end up in Azkaban for murdering his father. Mum clears her throat and refocuses her attention on Al and me.

"Hey Al darling,"

"Hi, Aunty Hermione."

"Sweetie, I saw your Mum not long ago," She looks up to the right and squints and we all do the same unconsciously. "I think I see her. I don't know if Harry is here too, though." She mutters and that seems to spur Mr. Malfoy into action.

"Let me take your trunk, Scorpius. We have to go."

"No, I can do it myself." And Scorpius tries to walk off, but Mr. Malfoy is already grabbing the trunk. There's a small tug of war as they walk off.

"Where's your brother, Rose?" She asks and scans the crowd for the top of his auburn hair.

"He's probably with Lily."

"What do you mean 'probably'?"

"We don't run in the same circles, Mum. He's a first year."

"You and Al hang out with a Slytherin, but you draw the line at your brother?" She shakes her head in amused exasperation. "Just find your brother and meet me back here. I took the car, but the roads are in a mess. It's Friday you know and it's a week before Christmas. You know how the roads get."

"I'll go find him Aunty." Al says and runs off before Mum can answer. She looks at me and smiles.

"Miss me?"

"Of course, Mum! What kind of silly question is that?"

"Well, I don't know. You don't hang out with your brother. I just thought that you had written off the rest of your family members."

I roll my eyes and give her a hug.

"Where's Dad?" I ask as I pull away.

"Working, I assume." She mutters the last part and I'm about to ask her what does she mean by 'I assume', when my eyes catch on Scorpius. He seems to be in the midst of some sort of heated diatribe; the trunk lying forgotten between him and his father. Mr. Malfoy looks like it's taking him everything not to take out his wand and obliterate Scorpius as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to no doubt calm himself, and I completely identify with him. For the last four months Scorpius could be used as stand in for one of the gargoyles that sit atop Hogwarts or maybe even sub for a Dementor at Azkaban. He has been _that_ cheerful. But then the reason why he's been like that hits me with full force and I feel bad for it. It's only natural that he acts that way since his mother's suicide over the summer.

I look at him a bit more from this distance and I can clearly see that he and Mr. Malfoy resemble each other in more ways than just the pale hair and pointy chins. There's an aura of sadness draping over them like a blanket, their shoulders drooped and their eyes heavy with the weight. I look up and notice that Mum's watching the scene as well. She has an odd expression on her face. She looks confused and sad, but she also looks like she's trying to not let her expression show. After a moment she purses her lips and refocuses her attention to somewhere else. I wonder what she was thinking...

I pull away from her and go up to Scorpius, only semi-conscious of what I am doing.

"Scorpius," I call out and catch the tail end of him telling his father that he wishes he didn't have to go through this. They both look up at me. "I wanted to know if you would come over to our house for lunch on Boxing Day. Every Boxing Day there's a big family lunch and this year it's at our house. It's usually really fun. We have a Quidditch match afterwards and we watch movies. Remember I was telling you about movies?"

He stares at me as if I just told him that I think he should start wearing pink lipstick or something equally absurd.

"You're invited too, of course, Mr. Malfoy."

"Invited to what?" Mum asks as she comes up behind me.

"Your daughter here has so graciously invited us to spend Boxing Day with you and your family." I have no idea whether Mr. Malfoy is supportive of the idea or not. He speaks with a drawl that makes anything he says sound condescending and you automatically feel just a tad bit stupid. I wonder if Scorpius knows that he sounds just like the father that he hates so much.

Mum's eyebrows shoot up in the air and she looks like she's torn between looking horrified and faking politeness.

"_I_ would love to come." Scorpius says and throws a surreptitious dirty look at his father.

"Great! Mr. Malfoy can come too, right Mum?"

Everyone looks at me and I know they all want to put a Silencing Charm on me. Is it sinful how much pleasure I'm taking in this?

"Uhh…Well, I'm sure Malfoy is busy. I wouldn't want to intrude..." She trails off.

"It's Christmas. No one works for Christmas." I remind them. I'm surprised that I haven't collapsed from Scorpius' look of burning hatred. "It's just that...I don't want you guys to be alone for Christmas."

Mum just barely stifles a groan. Mr. Malfoy's eyebrows are in danger of never coming back down from his hairline. Scorpius glares. He's amazingly good at it. Mr. Malfoy recovers quickly, however.

"Well, that sounds . . . I'll let you know. We'll see how it goes. Scorpius, pick up your trunk, let's go." And he turns on his heel quickly, hurrying out of there as if he thought that I'd next invite him to come live with us or something.

I turn to Mum fully expecting a lecture of some sort, but she's staring after Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius, confusion clearly marked upon her face.

"Mum?"

"Hmmph. That was not the answer I was expecting."

"You were expecting him to say yes?"

"No. I expected to see the veins in his neck explode at such an insult as breaking bread with someone the likes of me." She answers dazedly.

"People change."

"Do they?"

"Anyway, he said 'we'll see'. That's like a 95% chance that he's not coming."

"It's the 5% that I'm worried about."

"People change, Mum." I repeat. She snorts.

"Where's Dad, by the way?"

"He left for a case early. You know how it is sometimes, love." She's still staring off into the distance as Mr. Malfoy disappears in a veil of white steam.

"A case? Now? But Uncle Harry's his boss. I'm sure he wouldn't have assigned Dad a case when he knows that Dad has to meet us at the station today. I'm sure that Uncle Harry is here. That's so unfair."

Mum mumbles something or the other, I didn't quite catch it and I'm about to ask her to repeat when Hugo runs up and hugs her from behind.

"Mum!"

She turns and smiles and looks like she forgot all about Dad. I don't though.

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**A/N**: Review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter One: Hermione

**Hermione **

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

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Christmas traffic and Friday traffic rolls into one to give me a headache the size of England itself by the time we reach home. We left the station two hours ago and it's now after seven as I pull into the driveway. The drive got a lot smoother once we had hit open road, but for the most part we spent the better half of an hour in traffic in London. I hate driving sometimes. The children are cranky and hungry. We have just enough time for them to put away their stuff and get dressed before we head over to Harry's. I get out of the car and as I magically open the boot, I am reminded of why I didn't Disapparate from King's Cross – can't take the chance of Hugo or Rose leaving behind a finger or a toe, but with all of the luggage reaching in one piece. Why on earth do these children have so much stuff?! They'll only be here for two weeks before they return to school. I don't get it.

"Hurry up. Hugo, you'll shower last. I don't know what you do when you get inside there, but I don't want to be late because you discovered Atlantis in our tub." I float the trunks out and towards the house as they hurry inside.

"I think I know what he does when he gets in there and let me just say that's disgusting, Hugo!"

"Rose!" Hugo balks.

"Rose," I start but don't finish. I'm going to tap out of this one; this is Ron's territory. He tapped out when Rose first got her period, so I'm tapping out with the 'masturbation talk'. "Just hurry up and shower first."

It's so dark now as it's nearing Christmas and with a slight wiggle of my wand the front porch light comes on. In the distance I can see the lights of my neighbours further down the hill. My nearest neighbour is three miles from me and to be honest, most days I like it that way. Still the people are always friendly whenever we go further into town. They don't know that we're Wizards, but secrecy (and a sky-high mortgage) is the price to pay for this perfect house and view.

I head inside, mumbling Lumos as I make my way in. I hear Hugo trip up the stairs.

"Why didn't you put on the lights?" I scream at him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Don't know. I thought that you were doing it." He shouts back and I roll my eyes. He is clearly Ron's son.

We recently got our hybrid Magictricity installed. A wizard from the Ministry came and spent half a day, which is a fraction of the time we spent waiting for him to arrive in the first place. First it was Wednesday, then he'd said next Tuesday and then it was next Thursday. With shame I had to swing around my clout as war veteran and recent status as Wizen of the Wizengamot to get the process hurried. He spent the better part of a day waving around his wand and installing switches. Afterwards he explained when I noticed a distinct lack of wires, that the source is the Ministry – another fifteen minute speech as to how that was magically possible – and that's from whom the bill will come every month. He went on and on about the complications and how really old magic-filled buildings like Hogwarts and even Malfoy Manor would never be able to get Magictricity not unless they wanted to burn everything in the place. It simply was not compatible. I didn't think that anything was compatible with Malfoy Manor and it never failed to surprise me that Malfoy continues to live there. Even his mother had moved to France or something. Of course the wizard explained to us that the gadgets that came along with Magictricity had to remain basic. Hugo and Rose had been devastated when they realized that that meant we would not be getting a computer. My parents were thrilled that they still had a bargaining chip for their grandchildren's attention, besides their love and affection of course. But at least we can watch the telly and listen to the Minister saying incredibly stupid things. People have no idea of the headache that went into passing the laws for something as simple as whether to have Magictricity or not. Every variable has to be considered and it is exhausting, so imagine my more complicated cases the Wizengamot must review, like giving parole. It makes me appreciate the smaller things a lot more and that's why I get absolutely pissed when I go into the kitchen and see a pile of wares in the sink.

It's not possible for one wizard to make that kind of mess. Ron had to have had help. He got up early this morning, sometime around four, to follow a lead on a case. I stayed another hour in bed before I got up and did some work in the study and then set about making breakfast. I left breakfast on the table for him. Who knows, he might have come back by seven and he might be hungry, I rationalized. Bread and jam; nothing fancy especially since he has recently given up meat (his latest fad thanks to Padma Patil). Apparently Ron did come home. He ate breakfast. He made lunch – vegetables, beans, rice – and seemed to have found a way to use almost every single ware in our kitchen. The mess is unbelievable. But that's not what's bothering me. Ron has a wand and he knows how to use it. Why couldn't he have done a simple washing up spell? I've only showed it to him a million times. I set about doing it with a flick of my wand. My parents always ask "what's the big deal?" They don't seem to understand that magic is connected to a person physically, and while I'm not actually washing up, the constant use of magic will eventually leave me feeling a bit tired out (though arguably not as tired as if I had done the washing up manually). This is a simple spell and is not that tiring normally, but I'm exhausted after a full day at the Wizengamot. The least Ron could have done was wash up. I sigh and head into the study wondering if I have enough time to work on my rebuttal for a trial I have tomorrow, but as soon as I see the Daily Prophet I turn right back out and head upstairs to take my shower.

It's hard to tell when it first got serious since most of the time things remained as it always had been. Ron would go to work, come home in the evening, we'd have dinner, he might nip over to Harry's or to George's, he'd come back home, we'd chat a bit and then fall into bed and have sex or not have sex as the case was fast becoming. Ron always picked up a hobby that usually lasted no more than three weeks to a month tops. When he'd told Harry and me that he wanted to start writing for the Daily Prophet's Sports Section on a part-time basis I laughed out loud.

"What? I can't be a writer? Always the tone of surprise." He shook his head and I smiled. That joke was running on twenty years and I still smiled.

"Of course you can. But you help out with George at the Shop and then of course, and more importantly, you're an Auror."

"'Mione, I'm a Third Grade Auror. I think I can read and run after Dark wizards at the same time."

"If you couldn't then the Auror Department would really need to revise their entry requirements." Harry said with a smile and took a sip of his drink. I looked at Harry and snorted a laugh. I settled back further into Harry's couch. Ginny had long ago fallen asleep on the setee. It was always so surprising that she couldn't hold her liquor. We'd been celebrating my recent promotion as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At first I thought that Harry would be peeved that he wasn't promoted, but it turns out he never wanted the job in the first place and considered it a hex dodged. He was just glad that now I would be on the Wizengamot with him as well in our capacity as ex officio members.

Ron got up and went to the bathroom. I shifted closer to Harry and grabbed his hand before he took another sip of his drink. He was on his way to being tipsy, his eyes a bit lidded. We were sitting a bit close on the sofa and I could see the faint crow's feet that were starting to form around his eyes.

"He can't actually work for the Daily Prophet, can he? I mean, he's already employed by the Ministry. You're the Head of the Auror Department, you would know."

"You don't actually think he'll do that, do you?"

"Of course he's going to do it. You know how he gets and when did he start showing sense about these things?"

"You think it's a bad choice?"

"I just don't want him to be crushed when he doesn't get it. He's no writer, Harry. You and I both know this."

"Sometimes people have to make their bad choices on their own and live from it."

"I get that, but it doesn't mean he ought to jump off a precipice every time he sees one."

"Well maybe you should just leave it alone. It's a fad and it'll fade." He chuckled at his use of alliteration. "Maybe I should do the writing." And he chuckled again and hiccupped.

"You and your wife are hopeless." I said and took the drink out of his hands.

"Ain't that the truth?" He said more sombrely and I looked at him, really looked at him. He looked like he was about to tell me something. He looked pained and we sat there staring at each other. Ron came in at that exact time. I jumped up from the couch and a millisecond later I wished I hadn't because now it looked like something suspicious had been going on. Ron looked between Harry and me. Harry tilted his head back on the couch and shut his eyes, oblivious. I downed the rest of his drink and asked Ron when would be the interview for the Daily Prophet job.

That was over six months ago.

I come out of the bathroom, dry myself and throw on some clothes – underpants, jeans, blue sweater and black boots. The steam from the shower has made my hair frizzier and I could care less. My thoughts are on Ron. I had no idea that Ron would turn out to be a good writer. Well, as he says, he is not a good writer. He's a good story-teller and the readers like his style. He writes and it's really Padma, his editor that makes the chicken-scratch Pidgin English he writes, readable for the world.

I sit on the edge of the bed and zip up my boots as I try to remember the last time that Ron and I had a proper conversation. I don't even know where he is right now. Is he on a case? Or is he discussing his next column with Padma; if he really is discussing anything at all. The bed's unmade so I guess that he took a nap too. '_By himself?' _My traitorous mind questions. I dismiss the thought, stand up and swish my wand to make up the bed. I head back into the bathroom and take out my birth control pill. Witches had been using these for centuries before the clever idea ever came to Muggles. The miscarriage I had six months ago makes me reconsider. Maybe I'm not meant to have any more children. And with the way my sex life has been going lately – that is, not going at all – I might as well face the facts, I won't be having any more children. I think about whether to pop a pill or not. It's not like I'll be having sex with my husband tonight or anything so farfetched. I still take the pill.

I wonder if I'll see Ron at Harry's later. I can't believe that this is what it's reached to. He couldn't even be bothered to show up to pick up his children from the station. A sudden flare of anger rises within me and dies instantly. Ron could be on a mission. He could be hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere. It happened to him about nine months ago. He was laid up for a month at the hospital. I'm a horrible wife. I head downstairs.

"Hurry up, Hugo! I'm ready to leave!" I shout as I head to the door.

Xxx

"James saw it all," Ginny says as soon as I step through the kitchen. Hugo and Rose see Teddy and completely forget about everything and anyone else. Everyone loves Teddy. It'd be easy for him if he ever decided to run for Minister for Magic.

"Saw what?" I ask her as she mixes me a drink and a tray of Pigs in a Blanket float from the oven and rests on the counter. I take the drink gratefully – vodka and cranberry juice. It's so noisy out there.

"Rose inviting Malfoy to lunch on Boxing Day," She says after she takes up her drink; her wand making the hors d'œurves transfer enchantingly into a warm basket. She separates the vegetarian ones for Ron since he's no longer eating meat now. Strange, I know. Blame Padma.

I groan. "I don't know what that girl was thinking. I looked at her like she was Confounded."

"From what James said maybe it was you who looked that way. He said you looked like you swallowed an umbrella and Malfoy looked like he sat on one."

"Hmm, well I always suspected that he had something up his arse." I mutter into my drink and Ginny nearly chokes on hers laughing.

"Well maybe he's changed." She says after she mops up the drink that fell on her bosom. I can barely believe that Ginny has a bosom now. I suppose that's what three children will get you. I snort at her comment.

"Who's changed?" It's Harry who says that as he walks into the kitchen and snatches a cheese puff off the rack on the stove. Ginny slaps his hand away but is too slow; Harry's mouth is already stuffed.

"Malfoy and Hermione at the station today." She answers him.

"Oho. I just got that story."

"What? Already?"

"James?" Ginny asks and Harry nods.

"Yeah. He and Rose are acting out the parts with Al playing Scorpius. He's really learned to perfect his scowl; he sounds just like Scorpius too. Rose has this look on her face like she just swallowed an umbrella or something. She's playing you, by the way." He turns to me and Ginny bursts out laughing. I roll my eyes and take another sip of my drink.

"But maybe he has changed. I mean, I haven't heard anything about him in quite a bit of time. The last thing we heard was that his wife committed suicide." Ginny, of all people, says.

What I want to say is on the tip of my tongue – his wife must have been desperate to get away from him. Everyone's saying it, but that's uncharitable. He really hasn't done anything recently to warrant such a comment and that's the part I'm having trouble with.

"He looked absolutely wrecked when the press took that picture of him at the funeral." Ginny says.

"I can't believe they went to the funeral. They have no respect, whatsoever." I say and mean it.

"How did he look today?"

"Oh he looked good. The hairline's starting to recede, but he was dressed impeccably, as usual, except for that scruff of beard he's sporting. He's probably working out or something because he hasn't put on an ounce of fa –"

"No, I meant how did he look emotionally? Was he going to break down or anything?"

I'm sure my cheeks are flamed and Ginny is giving me this sly and suspicious look. I take a big gulp of my drink to mask my shame. "Um, he probably wanted to break Scorpius' neck. Scorpius has been acting out lately. Surprisingly, Malfoy seemed patient. I expected more of a meltdown."

"Maybe he has changed."

"Everyone keeps saying that. It's as if you all forgot that Malfoy was a petty, racist, smug, spoiled brat. Look, I know that it's a possibility that he changed, but the last time I spoke to him was in the Room of Requirement when he tried to sell out you, Ron and me to Voldemort. Those are the kind of things that stay with people. After that Fiendfyre episode do you know how long it took me to light the stove at my parents' house and not get nightmares?"

Harry wryly smirks because he went through the same post-War shock. Ginny absently rubs a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes her hand and then moves away from her to go sit down at the round kitchen table.

"Well I doubt that Malfoy would come to your house on Boxing Day." He says. "He might've changed but he's not insane. I'm sure that he hasn't changed to the point that he's a completely different person."

"True. It's just that I was expecting him to say something along the lines of 'don't be daft, Granger. I wouldn't step foot in your house even if someone was paying me to do it.'"

"That sounded really Malfoyish." Ginny commended me.

"Rose mimics Scorpius all the time. Apparently he sounds just like his father."

"I still can't get over that the two of them are friends. Even Al talks to him."

"Al is tolerated by Scorpius," Harry corrects. "They don't seem to get along that well. Al is secretly terrified of him. "

I personally think that Al is terrified of his shadow, but I don't say that. I don't know how he made it into Gryffindor and how he managed to end up running in the same circles as Scorpius Malfoy – Slytherin and son of a former Death Eater. "Stranger things have happened, I suppose." I mumble but Harry hears me.

"Yeah. Like Malfoy could show up."

"Poor Ronikins would have a heart attack." George says as he walks in. "His daughter is already head over heels in love with a Malfoy –"

"Blasphemy, George!" I cry and Harry and Ginny laugh.

"– so I have no doubt that he would keel over to see Malfoy sprawled all over the settee."

"Did Ron come with you?" I ask.

"Why would he come with me?"

"He's not at the shop?"

"No. I thought he was on a case." We both turn to Harry. Harry shakes his head and the room turns a bit quiet when Harry answers, "He's probably at the Prophet."

"I figured. The kids really wanted to see him tonight."

"He'll show up." Harry says and rises to take the glass out of my hands. It's empty, but he doesn't refill it. I look at him and he gives me a look. I know what the look means. It means he doesn't want me to say anything and blame it on the alcohol later. I give him a raised eyebrow to let him know that that's what _he_ usually does. Ginny clears her throat and says,

"Ron's here."

We all look through the kitchen door and see Rose and Hugo plastering themselves onto their father. Harry passes me on his way out to the living room and gives me another look. "Be nice," the look says.

I'm always nice; I'm the good guy.

As soon as I enter I see him in the middle of telling Rose and Hugo and the rest of the children about some ridiculous Quidditch story. The children are enraptured. I decide to go set the table manually. A little bit later he comes into the dining room, beaming like an idiot. I look up at him.

"Look," he says and holds out his hand to show me a small pebble in the middle of his right palm.

"What is it?"

"Barry Donneridge made a swooping dive last week, kicking up dust everywhere when the tail of his broom swept the ground. This little pebble got lodged in the broom and would you believe that every time he tried to turn right he'd end up forty degrees further than he wanted to be. And it was all because of this pebble. It's the size of a pea and it caused that. It reminded me of that Muggle story you used to tell the kids; The Princess and the Pea I think it was?" He looks to me for confirmation. I stare at him blankly. "Anyway, I based my whole column on this pebble."

"It reminds you of a pea? It didn't remind you that you were supposed to meet your children today at the station? Rose and Hugo were looking out for you. I had to lie and say that you're on a case because you couldn't be bothered to tell me where you were. I suppose that pebble didn't remind you to Floo?"

"'Mione –"

I take the pebble from his hand and look at it more closely. "It reminds you of a pea. Well this reminds me of your brain!" I hurl the pebble at him and he ducks. It hits a vase on the sideboard and causes the vase to wobble.

He looks at me hurt for a moment and then snuffs out a laugh. I can't believe he finds this funny! I get so angry that I reach for my wand, but he stops my hand.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. I'm sorry, but that was really funny. Did you just call me pea-brained?"

I stare at him in confusion for a moment. He's standing there trying his best not to laugh and failing miserably. Against my will, the corners of my lips curl up into a smile and I shake my head in annoyance. He inches closer when he realizes that I've lowered my wand.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I should have been there. I should have called. I'm sorry."

And it's those two words that bring me back to my senses. I sigh deeply, or dramatically, as he would say.

"You use those words so much Ron…they're starting to lose their meaning." I shove my way past him and leave him standing there holding his head in frustration. The vase topples over and shatters loudly.

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**A/N**: So what do you think about Ron? Am I bashing him too hard? Is he still lovable? Hermione… she still thinks Malfoy's a twat. Will there be hope? Your thoughts? Review please!


	3. Interlude: Scorpius

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**Interlude: Scorpius**

**A/N:** A bit of back story in this one. Plus, there's Blaise! And Malfoy!

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Despite what a lot of people may think, growing up at Malfoy Manor was quite fun. Even Father talked about his childhood (pre-Hogwarts) at the Manor fondly as if he were talking about some lost paradise. I suppose that's why he tried to give me the same childhood that he had. Like him, before attending Hogwarts I didn't go to school, but I shared a private tutor with my cousins – Alexandria and Verona (Alex and Vee): Uncle Blaise's and Aunt Daphne's daughters; Aunt Pansy's two daughters – Blaire and Joanne, and Mr. Nott's daughter - Sydney. Our tutor was a tall, thin wizard with a turned up nose and pinched mouth that always made him look like he just smelled something bad. We always joked that it was his upper lip, but Uncle Blaise said that the poor wizard was unaccustomed to the crisp scent of the filth of our wealth. Apparently our tutor's wife worked the evening shift at St. Mungo's and he had to rush home to look after their 'wee an', as he called his son. He was Scottish. That meant that we could spend the afternoons playing Quidditch and swimming as far down as we could to the bottom of the lake at the back of my house and listen to the mermaids sing or try to catch them. At night there was always a dinner at one of the houses, except ours since Father refused to step foot in our formal dining room and living room for reasons that were unknown to me at the time. When Mother complained he compromised by having a moonlight dinner in the side garden. We'd round off those evenings with a scavenger hunt in the garden maze for us children, the winner receiving a new broom, new robes, new whatever you wanted while the adults got tipsy and tried not to let it show. Sometimes we'd put on whodunit plays for the adults. Uncle Blaise, Father and especially Aunt Pansy encouraged us as they said this would be good practice for when we entered Slytherin. It would keep our traits sharp. Mother usually frowned at this, but always ended up patting me secretly on the back if I were the murderer and no one figured me out.

When our lessons were held at Mr. Nott's house, we'd all sneak to the woods and try our best to ride the Thestrals that we knew were there. It took us weeks to find the bloody creatures and when I complained to Father about our frustrating adventure he curled his upper lip and looked at me with a mixture of pity and confusion and slight bitterness. He rearranged his features to look less disgusted and bent close to me, so that I could see the hardness of his grey eyes.

"Don't try to grow up too fast, Scorpius and don't ever wish to see Death."

When we next had our lessons at Mr. Nott's house we came across a magical barrier that prevented us from entering the woods. All we could see was the reflection of the woods that were off limits to us, but as I stood at the edge of the barrier I swore I could feel a cold breath on my face. One of my cousins, I honestly cannot remember which one, teased me that it was Death that breathed on me. For nights afterwards I had terrible nightmares that Death was actually my father. I'd wake up screaming and Mother and Father would rush into the room, wands ready to hex to death the culprit. I didn't want to let Father know of my dreams, terrified that he would yell at me for being silly or weak, so I always whispered to Mother to tell him to leave and then I'd let her know the reason for my distress. He'd look confused and hurt, but in the end he'd say nothing and leave. I'd be at the same time relieved and disappointed, surprisingly. I have no idea if she ever told him, though the days after those nightmares he was extra nice to me.

I never saw Rose or Al or any of the Potter and Weasley brood when I was growing up. Father only socialized with his small group of pureblood friends at his house or theirs and he almost never publically socialized in the UK. I never heard Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley or even Harry Potter's name uttered from Father's or Mother's lips; not even when Mrs. Weasley, Rose's mother, made headlines and got the Wizengamot to pass the law that house elves must be paid. I remember the House Elves Liberation Day clearly. This was about two years ago and it was the beginning of August and we were visiting Grandmother at her villa at Cap d'Antibes in the south of France. Father was reading the papers as he sat at the breakfast table while Mother sat on the balcony (close enough that he could keep an eye on her) staring at the endless blue scenery of the sea. Now this is significant to note because I had never in my entire life seen Father read the papers in front of me. He always read the papers in his room. If he was busy, he told the house elves to send it to his room. I never saw the papers before he did. I thought at the time that he was just that interested in being in-the-know. I had no idea that he was vetting the papers before I had the chance to see any possible news about him and his murky past. At the time however, I was a child and I could care less about the papers. To me it all looked like white spaces in between black punctuated occasionally with pictures of wizards with their worst facial expressions. Anyway, on that day that Father sat at the breakfast table with Grandmother and myself and she turned to him and said,

"There was a time when there wasn't all of this mixing going on and there wasn't this freeing of house elves nonsense. Soon they'd be sitting next to me and sipping my tea. Times sure have changed, haven't they Draco dear?"

"Right you are, Mother." Father had replied, not bothering to look up from the papers. Up to this day I have no idea if he were listening or not. With his absentminded stock answer he could have been agreeing to his own beheading as he was _that_ interested in reading up on the article that had Mrs. Weasley emblazoned on the front page cheesily hugging some supposed ever-grateful house elf that really looked like he wanted to hang himself from shame. I wanted to ask him if he had heard what Grandmother said, but at that same time in walked Uncle Blaise with Aunt Daphne and the girls and next thing we knew we were out on the water on the yacht as Father charmed bubbles for our faces, so that we could we could go diving and play underwater catch in the sea with what would most likely be our dinner later on. Mother didn't move from the balcony.

As you can see my childhood social circle comprised only of girls. When I was born apparently the older folks breathed out a sigh of relief as they were seriously beginning to wonder whether there would be no males to carry out a pureblood line in England. My two main male figureheads in my life are Father and Uncle Blaise, his brother-in-law. Mr. Nott is not always around due to some job that involved a lot of travelling and late hours (he worked for Father); his wife is more present. Aunt Pansy is happily divorced. She had married some ridiculously rich foreigner and now lived off of his alimony payments. She and Mother had an odd, tense relationship that involved smiling in each other's presence and making snide, barely veiled insults. Father and Uncle Blaise enjoyed it immensely.

My mother was a very quiet witch. She almost never raised her voice and her little sessions with Aunt Pansy never really went above normal conversation level. She was cool-headed. But one day I saw her lose her temper in a most spectacular way. I had just turned nine and Mother and I were in Diagon Alley together with Aunt Daphne. Aunt Daphne had promised to buy me something extravagant and of course Mother was not to be upstaged by her husband's ex-girlfriend and so they stood inside of Madame Malkins quietly, but steadily racking up a most ridiculous bill as they tried to one-up themselves in who can buy the better gift. I grew tired and rolled my eyes. All morning I pretended that I didn't care but I had to leave after I heard Mother telling Madame Malkin that she wanted my robes to be dipped in gold and edged with red diamonds. Good grief; I wondered if she knew that I'd end up looking like the sword of Gryffindor by the time they were done with me. It made no sense to interrupt them; they were in too deep. Not even Madame Malkin looked like she was listening and she wasn't even stoking the fire to see how far the two ladies would take things like I knew Father and Uncle Blaise would have done. Instead, she was eyeing the door nervously, her eyes flittering from the door to my mother and Aunty like she was dreading a particular customer.

I walked out the store and wandered aimlessly, but I could swear that people looked at me more intently. It wasn't the look of curiosity or envy that I usually got because of my hair colour. Rather, I think my hair colour was drawing glares, not stares. I felt strange and heavy like I was walking in smoke. At the time I didn't realise that I was noticing the atmosphere of the place; the political atmosphere which was charged and dark - like a lightning storm someone had said, I think it was Aunty or Father, I can't remember. But I was what, nine or so? I could care less about political climates. I wandered past the elephant-sized Gringotts bank realizing a second too late that I had never gone past the bank and had no idea that there was even anything beyond it. A goblin guard turned me away and in my haste to escape the hideous, short, big-nosed creature, I ended up an unknown alley. Something dark was going on here. The alley seemed to be in a permanent shadow, though it was swelteringly hot. Strangely, shivers went up my spine. I was too young to understand that Dark Magic had recently been here.

The alley was flat land, unpaved with the white cobblestone like the rest of Diagon Alley and instead a rough tar covered it which grew spongy in the damp heat of August. There were huge potholes on the ground. I didn't know at the time that they were battle scars from the Second Wizarding War. The roads on the main part of Diagon Alley were fixed, but no one bothered to fix these traps on the side streets. A scent, no a stench of something like fish guts or rotten potatoes suddenly slapped me in the nostrils. What was that? There were deep potholes that were filled with brackish water and I can only assume that there was a swamp directly underneath or nearby. I stepped in some of this nasty sludge and could not have been more disgusted. I pulled out my right foot and something snapped up right after it. I staggered backwards. It was a snake. Of course! I should have known that scent. And I had just stepped in a snake's nest.

It whipped around to strike, splashing some of the nasty greyish sludge in my face. I was horrified. I was so frightened that I felt I might faint. Well, I wasn't just afraid, but I was confused with shock. I was in the middle of bloody London, not in some wild, uncivilized bushy area! With a wriggle the creature muscled free from the rest of slimy, black snakes and headed for me with malicious intent. I was flabbergasted with revulsion. I stood swaying (at least that's how it felt because I know for a fact that I was not moving at all, stiffened with fear) and the snake rushed up to me.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," I dimly heard someone swear and there was a flash and then another as the snake flew up into the air once, its hard tail whipping me like a belt across the face and then glowed green for a moment only to fall dead on the ground. The other snakes sensed imminent defeat and retreated into their burrow of acrid water. I looked up to see Mr. Borgin standing there looking at me. Ah, so I was in the back alley behind Borgin and Burkes. Everything makes sense now.

"Young Malfoy, go on from here." I stared at him, still in shock. "What's the matter with you? I said, go on! Get!"

Didn't have to tell me a third time. I turned and bolted out of that alley so fast that I'm sure that I left my shadow behind. It was a strange encounter. I'd met Mr. Borgin before. He wasn't exactly Mr. Friendly, but he was never this rude. I dismissed the thought. I was back on Diagon Alley proper and I saw a crowd of people standing in front of Madame Malkins. A few curious onlookers were conveniently situated at a safer distance from across the streets. In the centre of the commotion were my mother, Aunt Pansy and Madame Malkin. Mother was looking about furiously and calling my name. Aunt Pansy had actually positioned herself protectively in front of Mother.

I ran over trying to get through the crowd. The front of Madame Malkin's shop was plastered in what looked like the same blackish muck that was now stuck on my right shoe and left cheek. I was just noticing the coincidence and furiously tried to wipe away the supposedly incriminating evidence (I am a Malfoy; I was born knowing what incriminating evidence meant). However, I was not the only person to notice how suspicious I looked and someone yelled,

"He's probably the culprit!"

"Scorpius!" I heard Mother calling out.

"Mother!"

"Don't be absurd! He has the same muck on him as the shopfront. Clearly, he's a victim here, just like we are. He's an innocent child that you barbarians have cursed with your stupid grudges!" She said to my accuser, her face in a rage. I was shocked to see her like that.

"Grudges? You pure-bloods are the ones with grudges. They should have burned the lot of them at the Ministry! And their wives too!" A hooded figure shouted. He was clearly not a curious onlooker, but an instigator.

"Lucius Malfoy should be the next to go after they give the Carrows the Kiss today!"

"Scorpius!"

"I'm coming, Mother!" I shouted to her. The crowd was jostling me. I could see her; one hand protectively over her burgeoning stomach. I could see Aunt Pansy's nose flaring, her wand at the ready.

"Barbarians she calls us! You're the ones married to barbarians hiding behind a veil of pure-blood status and money!" The hooded figure continued.

"Your kind isn't welcomed here!" His supporter crowed.

"Scorpius!"

"Go back to your faggot Death Eater husband! They should have burned him and you too!"

The sound of that wizard's nose shattering from the force of my punch was memorable – like glass shattering hidden in a cushion. Mother grabbed my hand and pulled me close to her as Aunt Pansy grabbed hers. We were spinning away to Malfoy Manor in an instant.

I got my first glimpse of Harry Potter that day. I didn't know who he was, but thought he was a nobody. I was clearly wrong. The house elves acted as if Merlin himself had visited the Manor. As soon as I saw him Father and Mother shuffled me off to my room. Later, after dinner Father came in my room. He sat me down on the bed while he conjured a straight-back chair to position directly opposite me.

"Son, I am no fool and neither is your mother, and so I am assuming that between the both of us we did not produce a fool. You seem to have very little malice in you, which is alright because I don't think your ancestors could have stood it if you were both kind-hearted _and_ a simpleton." I looked up at the portraits of Grandfather Cygnus and Grandmother Druella staring down at me and nodding gravely. Father did a double take and gave them the Draco-Malfoy-Glare that sent them hmmphing and scurrying away to their next portraits.

That was him being soft and it was virtually indistinguishable from his harder side. I knew what he was saying, but I also knew that he was making an effort.

"Why'd you do it?"

"He said something mean about you and Mother, sir."

"What did he say?"

"He called you a deer heater."

"Beg pardon?"

Honest to Merlin at that time I thought the man had called Father a Deer Heater and not a Death Eater. Yes, I know it makes no sense, but I heard what I heard. I know now that that's not what he said, clearly.

"His accent was bit thick. He was Cockney, I think. I don't know what a deer heater is, if it's some kind of Cockney insult or what…" I was truly puzzled. Father had on a slight smile. He took a deep breath and regained his composure.

"You punched him because he said I was a 'deer heater'? What else did he say? I want to know everything that you heard. What did he say?"

"I don't know." He gave me a raised eyebrow daring me to continue lying. I suddenly remembered. "He said that Mother should go back to her faggot deer heating husband and that the two of you should have been burnt at the stake."

"I see. Do you know why he said that?"

"No. I just know it was something I didn't like. He shouldn't call you that. He shouldn't call you a faggot. The tutor says that's a dirty word."

He gives me another look that I couldn't read at the time, but I now know was surprise that _that_ was the part I took issue with. I hadn't learned yet who and what was a Death Eater or that conversation might have gone differently.

"Hmm, try not to do that again. It's wrong and I really don't want to see Harry Potter coming to my house again."

"Yes sir. Sir, why is he famous?"

It's a testament to the kind of tutoring we got that we had no who Harry Potter was and why we had no idea that my father was actually a Death Eater. Father paused a bit before answering, before coming up with a suitable lie, that is.

"He's famous because in school he decided that he would challenge me to a duel."

"Really? Who won?"

"We never got to find out because at the same time that he wanted to duel me, in burst a wizard with black robes holding a cheque for fifty thousand galleons and Miss Hogwarts 1991 wearing a sash and throwing confetti, all to congratulate Potter on being The Stupidest Prat in History."

I laughed out loud. "Everyone knows that I'm better than him." Father said with a straight face and a thick drawl. I laughed some more because I knew he was actually joking. Now, I'm not so sure.

The next day we spent at a Quidditch match in Austria. It was awesome. I got to meet the players and Father took me on a mini tour around the city. He wasn't that bad, I had thought then. But then The Incident happened and Mother got sick and I learned a whole lot more about Father and why he couldn't give me lectures on what was right and wrong or good and bad and why he definitely was not better than Harry Potter.

That was only three years ago, yet it feels like more and less at the same time. I don't know; it's hard to describe time when my home now feels like the mausoleum at our estate. Father has changed bedrooms. The one that he shared with Mother he hasn't stepped foot in since her passing six months ago. I miss her so much.

Father's sitting on a conjured chair in the gazebo in the side garden smoking with Uncle Blaise as they await Aunt Daphne with the girls from Beauxbatons and he doesn't even seem to notice that I'm sitting right on the bench between the frozen rose bushes below him in front of the gazebo. Hell, I'm not even sure he notices that Uncle Blaise is sitting right next to him!

"How now, Malfoy? What's on your mind?" Uncle Blaise says as he blows smoke rings out of his mouth. Through the painted white wooden lattice work I can see Father startle. The ivy that snakes around the gazebo is some sort of magical plant and shift, a bit annoyed by the cigarette smoke. Due to that I have a better view of their faces. They still do not notice me dressed in my green winter coat sitting there among the still rose bushes. It's dusk and the sun is setting quickly with pink and orange streaks slashed across the sky.

"Um, my mind was far. I um...I saw Granger today at the station."

Uncle Blaise looks confused for a second then asks, "Hermione Weasley neé Granger?" Father nods. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well I see that your face still looks the same, unless she did punch you again, but you got a really quick and really good Healer at St. Mungo's to patch you up."

"Ha. Ha." It's said so drily that I'm surprised Father's cigarette hasn't set his tongue on fire. The words could be used for tinder; it was that dry. Uncle Blaise chuckles. "Actually, her daughter invited Scorpius and I to have lunch with them on Boxing Day."

This time Uncle Blaise full on laughs out loud. He slaps his knee and breaks out into a coughing fit. Father rolls his eyes.

"So are you going?"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Why not? Granger's looking good these days. Grief sex, Malfoy. Dig it." He guffaws at his own joke.

Father looks like against his will he laughed. He looks at Uncle Blaise and shakes his head. "Dig it is right because it would be over my dead body that I'd ever sleep with Granger."

I roll my eyes, but deep down I knew that Father and Mrs. Weasley ever getting together was the most ridiculous idea. The sun would have to fall out of the sky; fish and birds would start to shack up. It would never happen. Father and Mrs. Weasley could never be desperate enough.

Uncle Blaise laughs. "Oh yes, remember how her hair looked in school? She always looked like she just took a broom ride near the sea and then tried to comb her hair smooth with a rake."

Father chuckles. "And her teeth. Her teeth were so big that when she sneezed she bit a hole in her chest!"

"Ha! I bet that's where her breasts went."

They double over laughing and I want to get up and punch them in the mouth even though I know that would most likely be the last thing I ever did. Mrs. Weasley is a very nice witch and not just physically. After Harry Potter, she is quite possibly one of the nicest people ever.

They stop laughing after a while and Father wipes the tears from his eyes.

"Ah yes, she's managed to tame the hair these days. Well, it's a bit of a hit and miss, though. Some days the hair looks good, other days it's a right fright. Oh thanks, Blaise. I needed that. I can't remember the last time I laughed."

"Hmm. But on a serious note she looks a lot better now than how she did in school. She made a complete 180. She looks good, despite everything."

I want to snort at that, but can't, not unless I want to let them know I'm here. 'Despite everything' is Uncle Blaise's way of tactfully saying 'despite Mrs. Weasley being a Muggleborn'. At least he wasn't saying Mudblood. Father only shrugs at the remark. Uncle Blaise asks,

"But what _are_ you doing for Christmas?"

"I'm not heading over to Granger's house if that's what you're inquiring." Uncle Blaise chuckles and does a rude gesture that makes Father mock gag. Uncle Blaise laughs and then holds up his hands in surrender. Father only rolls his eyes. "You are so infantile, Zabini. Anyway, Mother wants me to go with her to visit Father in jail. His execution may finally be coming around this year. He's running out of appeals."

"Sounds like a fun day."

"I'm so jam packed with excitement I don't know how to contain myself." Father's customary drawl always made his sarcasm sound more biting that the average person's. "She wants me to bring along Scorpius."

"How is he? I haven't even seen my favourite and only godson in ages." He asks while absently staring right in my direction! Really!

"He's..." Oh I can't wait to hear this answer. "He's...on edge and Mother tells me that I have to be patient, something that everyone knows I have in spades," Uncle Blaise huffs out a dry laugh at the joke. "I'm convinced that he's trying my patience as part of some grand master plan to get me to kill him so that I'll end up in Azakaban."

"That would be very Slytherin of him. At least you'd be proud of him in Azkaban."

"Ah yes and when I'm locked up I could focus on that instead of thinking about the more traditional inmate thoughts like how to avoid having my soul sucked out and dodging men wanting to have sex with me."

"That sounds like the same thing to me." Uncle Blaise says and Father nods in agreement. I roll my eyes.

"Both Mother and Pansy tell me that I have to be patient with Scorpius. Any little thing sets him off. I choose my answers carefully. I'm all politeness and no sudden movements. It's the equivalent of setting my wand on the ground and slowly backing away with my hands in the air."

"My how the roles have changed." Uncle Blaise mutters and I couldn't agree more. Father only nods gravely.

"Well, if you're not going on a trip down memory lane with your parents and son, you can come visit your mother-in-law with Daphne, me and the girls."

"Hmm. I'll take it into consideration."

"You know what you should take into consideration? Hermione Weasley."

"Blaise –"

"No, wait, listen to me. She is a war veteran, best friend to Potter and she single-handedly changed history by liberating house elves. She's a member of the Wizengamot now and is quite possible the most influential person after Potter himself. She's on the Wizengamot, Draco. In addition to making laws and trying cases, they also handle _appeals_, no?"

I can see that Uncle Blaise has a keen and sly, calculating look in his eyes. He looks like he's up to no good. Aunty Pansy once said that he was very independent and quiet in school. He was a true Slytherin, my Aunt Daphne said, as no one was ever really sure what Uncle Blaise was thinking which was great because when the winning score was called he could always claim to be rooting for that side all along. Mother once said however, that Uncle Blaise's entire refusal to take sides in school meant that he clearly did not have the same Slytherin days like Father and therefore, now that he was a married man with children, was always looking for ways to tent his fingers, laugh maniacally and scheme. The unfortunate thing is that not too many scheme-worthy opportunities arose when one spent the day lounging around one's estate with one's gorgeous wife and two children.

Father too seemed to notice the look in Uncle's eyes. He looked at him shrewdly. "And?"

"And I think it would be in your and Lucius' best interest if you…encouraged a friendship with her. It might work in your favour."

"Right. A couple of things I think should be considered before we continue. Firstly, I think that there'd be a better chance of a snake and rat being best friends. There's a chance that it'll work in the beginning and the snake and rat just might become friends, but eventually the snake will remember that he's a snake and that story has only one very predictable ending."

"I'm presuming that you're the snake in this analogy?"

"And you'd be correct. Secondly, do you remember what they used to call Granger back in the day and still call her now? Something about brightest witch? Yeah, she's still quite smart and she'll not fall for something like that. Me wanting to be friends with her is absurd and she will know instantly what I'm up to. She'll be weary of me."

"She'll be weary of the old you. There's a side to you that she's never seen. You managed to get Astoria to marry you by showing her another side of you, so I'm sure that you can convince Granger to encourage the Wizengamot in granting Lucius an appeal."

Father says nothing for a few moments, only shaking his head in slight exasperation, but his eyes are looking shrewd, calculating. I wonder what he's thinking…

"I wonder what's keeping Daphne and the girls. She should be here any minute now." Uncle Blaise casts a _Tempus_ charm as a way to change the topic. I suppose that he had already planted the seed in Father's mind, so there was no more to do but wait to see if it will grow and bear fruit.

Father stumps out his cigarette and looks like he's about to get up. "I have a letter to ow–"

"Are you avoiding Daphne?"

"What? Why would I be avoiding Daphne?"

"Every time she enters the same room that you're in, you disappear so fast it's like you disapparated."

"Well to be fair, I've been avoiding a lot of people recently. Daphne shouldn't take it personally; it's not just her."

Uncle Blaise pinches up his lips in an effort not to smile. "You know, it's not your fault that she found a Boggart in your wife's wardrobe."

"I know that."

"She was only deciding on what to do with her sister's clothes that obviously she wouldn't need anymore." Father takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "It's also not your fault that whatever it was that she saw scared her so much that chunks of her hair turned white. However, it is your fault that Daphne has to now dye her hair black and is looking dangerously close to Astoria."

"How on earth is that my fault?"

"The blond dyes weren't taking, so she had to go extreme and dye her hair midnight black. I asked you to do something about it and you ignored me."

"That's because I'm a Potions Master –"

"Exactly!"

"– not a hairstylist!"

"What's really going on, Malfoy? You could easily whip something up to fix Daphne's hair. Or is it that you secretly like it that way because it's as close as you'd get to seeing Astoria walking about."

There's a beat where Father simply stares at Uncle Blaise; his face contorted into a sneer.

"Zabini, you need to stop talking right this moment or those might be the last words that you say."

Uncle Blaise sighs dramatically before he speaks. "What's going on, Malfoy?"

"How can you ask me that? My father may be receiving the Dementor's Kiss in a year's time if this appeal falls through. My mother is wasting away because she thinks she's going to lose her husband _and_ son by the end of the year; one to government sanctioned murder and one to stress. I think my house is haunted. Oh and my wife killed herself six months ago and my son hates me because he thinks that I'm responsible for it."

"How'd he figure that?" Father waves away the question unfortunately because I would really like to finally hear him admit his blame in this.

"Do you know what they say about Astoria's suicide? Do you know what they say about me? They say that the poor witch was so desperate to get away from me that she _had_ to slit her wrists in the tub."

"I know that you're missing her."

"The sad thing is that at this very moment, I'm not. Right now, I really fucking hate her for doing this to me."

I can't help it. I get up violently from my seat. I get up so fast that I get slight vertigo. The words are out of my mouth before I even know what I'm saying.

"That's because you're blight! You ruin everything!"

They both look surprised to see me there right in front of them, as I was all this time. Uncle Blaise looks shocked and Father has a resigned expression. He says,

"Scorpius, go to your room. We'll talk later about eavesdropping."

His face looks calm but his voice is deadly low and menacing. I march over to my room annoyed. Nothing is worse than knowing that I'm going to be punished, but having to wait to find out what the punishment might be. I might have gone too far, but right now, at this very moment, I don't give a crap.

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**A/N**: So, what did you think? Scorpius is a lonely and angry boy. Malfoy went to jail for being a Death Eater. Is his story realistic enough? Would it be enough to warrant a slight change in his thinking? And why would his wife kill herself? Review and let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter Two: Malfoy

**Chapter Two: Malfoy**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

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It's nearing noon and I'm standing on Granger's doorstep on Boxing Day. It's freezing and Scorpius is ringing the doorbell for the fourth time. It makes an annoying sing-song chime at a high volume, but to be honest any volume higher than off is unbearable for me at the moment. I have the distinct impression that Scorpius is anxious to get away from me and is ringing the doorbell both as a cry for someone to come save him from my presence and also as an attempt to drown out any possible conversation starters I may think up. I don't know how we reached to this point. At one point in time I used to be someone he looked up to, not just because of height differences, but because he respected me and thought me amazing. I had been expecting my fall from superwizard status maybe when he reached the age of six, seven maybe, when he'd realize that I was a mere wizard who just happened to have a lot of money. But he doesn't even see me as an ordinary wizard. He seems to equate me with the same regard that he'd have for the filth stuck at the bottom of his shoes.

I'm tired. I want to go home and drink out the brandy that Daphne got me for Christmas. Yesterday's visit with Father was the worst. He's on his last appeal, but seems to have resigned himself to his fate. He's reformed, but Mother thinks he's pretending. She held up bravely, but as soon as we touched on the mainland she broke down in uncouth tears, big blobs of it falling mercilessly on my silk shirt. It lasted only a few moments before shame caught up to her and her tears seemed to have stopped mid-fall and she sniffled and pretended she had never done such a thing.

In some sort of underhanded retribution for witnessing her unravelling, consciously or unconsciously, she spent the rest of the day trying to get me to talk about Astoria's death. In a fit of frustration (and this is commendable as far as I'm concerned, since she spent upwards of seven straight hours needling and giving not-so-subtle suggestions) I finally snapped at her that I have no interest in shedding any more tears for Astoria. Of course I only meant that I was feeling all cried out and definitely didn't know what to say again because nothing I said was ever going to bring her back. But of course all Scorpius heard was that I'm an insensitive prick who doesn't give a flying fuck about his wife who recently killed herself. Later, I saw one of the house elves with his hideous Pterodactyl feet stuffed into the dragon hide shoes I had bought for Scorpius for Christmas. The little ungrateful shit gave away one of my presents! I'm just as tired of him as he is of me by this point, so I'm glad for him to spend his afternoon at Granger's while I can go home and wallow waist-high in self-pity and self-loathing. For snacks I'll have some brandy and suck on some sour grapes dipped in bitter batter.

The door opens and there stands Granger.

I nearly laugh out loud at the expression on her face. It's like she opened her door only to see the Dark Lord doing a tap dance. Her brain must have shut down for at least fifteen seconds. I only smirk though.

"Granger,"

"Malfoy?" She questions. I think she would prefer if it were Delores Umbridge standing outside her door. She looks _that_ shocked and confused. "You came?"

"To drop off me, Mrs. Weasley." Scorpius answers for me and she looks towards him, then to me and then back to him in what could only be described as desperate gratitude for that explanation. Good grief, the witch looked like he saved her from drowning! She visibly relaxes.

"Scorpius!" Her daughter shouts from behind her. She peeks her head out from behind Granger and says in a bright and cheerful tone that no child who was not my own ever used with me,

"Hi, Mr. Malfoy!" I'm so taken aback by her friendliness that I give her a grimace of a smile and mutter something that could be taken as a hello or not. She apparently has the attention span of a fly and immediately moves on from me. "Scorpius I'm so glad you could come. You have to come see this!" And she pulls him past her mother, nearly spinning her around. I notice some interesting artwork in the background and a staircase that takes focal point. Granger rights herself only to see me still standing there and the look of fear that I would be staying returns.

"Oh Granger, you look like a Death Eater showed up on your doorstep." She stares at me. Her eyes pop open so much I fear that that they may fall out. "Hmm, I knew I was right. You don't have a sense of humour." Her facial expression slackens and she's back to looking at me with no attempt to hide her annoyance. Ah yes! The Granger I know and hate? Not anymore. I honestly can't say I can muster up that much emotion for her anymore. She's a mild irritant.

"Right, well…thanks for letting Scorpius join us today. I know that he's had a rough time of late. He's a really nice child. I'm glad to see that you let him wear the jumper that I got him."

_That's_ where he got that from? Clearly Granger has no fashion sense or at least no idea of the best colours for the Malfoy skin tone. She bought him a pale yellow jumper with broad white stripes. It completely washed him out. He looked like a jaundiced ghost! And I'm sure he knows it too. Still, he put it on, though I feel it was only to spite me after I said he reminded me of consumption.

"…and he's probably looking for some kind of female figure in his life and I'm happy to provide it. I was shocked when he wrote to me –"

"Wait, what? He wrote to you? When did he write to you?"

She looks like she's seriously considering lying and telling me he only wrote her a cheque and not a letter.

"You have a correspondence with him? What do you talk about? He doesn't even write to me anymore!"

"Calm down, Malfoy!"

"What do you talk about? What's going on with him? He's stopped talking to me completely. Granger, with what are you filling up my son's head? Are you to blame for –"

"Good grief! Shut up!"

I do as told out of pure surprise. It's the first time really since I saw her a few days ago at the train station that we've come back to something resembling the relationship that I know us to have – one borne out of mutual hate, except now it's probably more out of mutual annoyance.

"Listen, he wrote to me when…when your wife died. He said –"

"Hermione! Get in here! Quick! Oh my! It's a disaster!" Someone says from deep inside the house. It sounds like that idiot Weasley. She looks back, then back at me, her expression worried and torn. I want to stop her and tell her that I'm sure the knuckle-dragger could manage a kitchen disaster. He managed to help take down the Dark Lord, I'm sure that he can survive a burnt roast. "Hermione! Are you coming! I don't think this is supposed to be moving after it's come out of the oven!"

She rolls her eyes and I'm a second behind her in mimicking the action. She does the unthinkable and grabs my arm as she pulls me inside. "Wait in the study. I'll talk to you in a bit." She literally pushes me inside a room a bit further down the hall and runs off before I can protest. I stand there feeling duped and violated like I just got taxed from a five year old. It was highly confusing.

I regain some sense and close the double doors of the study in front of me. I would hate for Weasley or one of the other disembodied voices I heard in the kitchen to walk past and see me in here. I would absolutely _hate_ to run into Potter. I doubt that Granger would announce my presence unless she wanted to get a row going between myself and her two husbands, Weasley and Potter. I close the door and realize that I'm _inside_ a Gryffindor's house. As soon as I do it, I feel like I just locked myself in with an _actual_ Griffin. I half expect to turn around and see some sort of abominable lion-eagle creature from hell's discard pile. I turn around and I am completely…unsurprised.

There are books everywhere. I have never wasted a spare thought on what Granger's study would look like, but somehow I look at this study and feel as if my expectations were realized. This is what Granger's study would look like. Two out of the four walls are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves that are all filled with books. The wall opposite the door has huge fixed light windows that look out onto a frozen lake and the fourth wall has a fireplace with a bookshelf built around it. There are books on the couches and on the sides of the couches serving as makeshift end tables. I peer closer and realize that though it may look disorganized there is a method to this madness. She might even rival the Malfoy library judging by this room alone, because I am sure that the rest of the house is just as ridiculously stuffed to the brim with books. Astoria was never an avid reader, but I am. I remember getting lost in the books and she would come down to the library to beg me to come to bed. She didn't need to beg too hard.

I point my wand at the fireplace and the fire roars to life. I look around the room some more and realize that it's very traditional, but the ivory leather couch set and glass top table stick out like red flags in a sea of pinewood panelling and cherry wood hard floors. On the mantle over the fireplace, there are pictures of Granger and the mouth-breather Weasley on their wedding day. Grief hits me like a wave of nausea. It always happens in the most unsuspecting moments. I saw someone yesterday from America. When he asked me how my wife was doing, I felt physically pained to have to say all over again that my wife died over the summer. How did she die? She had an accident in the bathroom. I don't see it as a lie really. Lots of people accidentally slash themselves with their husband's razors.

I peer closer at the photos. Granger looks…I'm not going to lie. She looks incredibly pretty. And I say 'incredibly' not meaning awe-inspiring, but as in _in_-credible; as in hard to believe that she could clean up that well. I lean in a little closer. The door opens and I suddenly pull back when I realize what I was doing. I feel like someone just caught me doing something dirty, like I just got caught wanking to my Aunt Bella's photo or something. Granger gives me an eyebrow pop of suspicion. It's a look I know well. I stare at her with a slight lip curl. I want her to know that I couldn't care less about her. I want her to forget what she just caught me doing. She caves in first and looks away before she looks at me again. This time her expression is neutral.

"Right, sorry about that." She closes the door behind her. I was right. She doesn't want anyone to see her with me either. "Slight disaster, but the crisis has been averted." She comes over to sit on the couch and nods for me to do the same. Reluctantly I acquiesce, but I sit as far away from her as possible on her right side. My back is to the door and I feel slightly uncomfortable about that. She tries to make polite conversation.

"Growing a beard?"

I shrug and absently scratch the scruff on my face. "Something like it," Not everyone understands that razors make me uncomfortable now.

There's a brief pause when we realize we don't know how to relate to each other now. It's disconcerting. I keep feeling like she should be insulting me while she ducks behind the couch to avoid one of my hexes. That is not happening and her failure to follow the script is the reason our interaction is odd and strained. I know it's awkward because I'm living in the past. I remember the last time I saw her. It was at the Room of Requirement when Crabbe nearly burnt her to a crisp. I decide to make the first move, but I'm struck dumb when she offers me tea and a tray with a shining tea set and biscuits on a platter appear. I wonder if it's sterling Goblin silver. I highly doubt it. There're a couple of cracks on the platter, but it at least looks clean. There are no marks on it.

"Or if you don't want tea, you can always stay for lunch..." She says very quietly and with her eyes averted. She looked like a school girl then asking me out on a date.

"Did Potter tell you to ask me to stay? I don't know why he always wants to play the nice guy." I take a biscuit off the platter. The bloody tray kept nudging me in my arm and spilling tea on the platter. I couldn't stand the mess. Casually she mops it up with a sweep of her wand.

"Yes, he did and I think it's only because Luna asked him too."

I don't know what to say to that except that Lovegood and Potter are both touched in the heads – nothing new. "And Weasley disagrees? Nice biscuit. I've never seen this brand."

"No, Ron doesn't know that you're here. It's homemade. I made it. Try not to spit it out. I didn't poison it."

I stare at her, my mouth stuffed with the biscuit. Should I swallow? I wonder how many times Pansy and Astoria had to ask themselves that question. I swallow reluctantly.

"That thought wasn't in my mind, but now it is. Also, I never took you for the baking type."

She smirks at me. "I guess you'll never know until it's too late."

I don't know what she meant by that. Did she mean whether she poisoned the biscuit or did she mean about her skills as a baker? I change the topic. "Anyway…"

"Yes, Malfoy…Scorpius wrote to me after…after…what happened,"

"After my wife's suicide?"

"Yes, then. He…he wanted to know more about you."

"And he decided to forgo asking the person who would be most knowledgeable on the topic, i.e. myself, and decided to ask the one person who knows the least about me. I suppose it makes sense in the way that it doesn't make sense at all."

"Hang on. I think that I know you pretty well. I've seen you at your worst. If that's not knowing someone, then I don't know what is."

Her words strike me like a slap to the face. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me. And besides, knowing the worst of people is not all there is to it. You don't know my best."

"I've seen your best as well." She looks up at me and holds my gaze. I know instantly what she's referring to. She's referring to that infamous moment in my house when I could have given up Potter, Weasley and herself, but I didn't. A table lamp is on directly behind her and balancing precariously on a stack of hardcover books. The lamp has lit her…I don't want to use the word romantically, but that's how the lighting is. It's soft and delicate. She's also side lit by the light streaming in from the window; a light blue that reflects the clearness of the sky. Her hair is a mess, but in this light, in this light she looks…I hate to say it, but she looks…something nearing pretty. I turn my gaze from her to stare at my clasped hands but she forces me to look at her when she says,

"Here you go," I look up and she's handing me a cup of tea. She's sitting so far away from me that she has to stretch to hand it to me. Apparently the thought of moving closer or using her wand never crossed her mind. She leans over a bit and being taller than her considerably I can see down her shirt a bit. I feel like a pervert. Out of the corner of my eye I can almost swear that I see Astoria laughing and muttering 'Dirty, old man.'

"Malfoy, would you take the tea!" She repeats because I got distracted. I blink twice to make sure that my dead wife isn't really in the room. Granger stares at me suspiciously.

"What?" I ask snappily, guiltily. Again I feel like I just got caught doing something dirty like shoplifting one of Lovegood's atrocious magazines.

"For goodness' sake!" She moves closer and grabs my left wrist and shoves the teacup in my hand. The teacup wobbles violently and she holds onto the saucer with both her hands. Reflexively I move to grab it too, but she's already holding it so my right hand ends up grabbing her left wrist. The result is that we're both holding onto each other with a cup of tea between us. We stare at the tea for a moment to ensure that it's settled and hasn't spilled and then we realize what we're doing. We're touching each other. She's not slapping the skin off my face. I'm not pouring hot water from my wand onto hers. We're touching each other and nothing bad is happening. Well, in the back of my mind I still expect a meteor to be hurtling down to Britain as fate's punishment for this unholy alliance. I look up at her and she's blushing. It's at that precise moment that the door opens and it's Weasley.

The look on Weasley's face nearly kills me. It's hilarious. He looks as if he just walked in on us having passionate and angry sex on the couch. Granger doesn't add to the situation when she flies off the couch like something bit her and exclaims,

"Ron!"

Potter only adds insult to supposed injury when he skates in a half-second later bawling out, "Ron listen, I can explain," as if he were the lookout or something. Explain what?

"Malfoy. What are you doing here?" Weasley asks.

The tea spilled anyway and I take out my wand to clean it up instantly, but the smell would remain on the couch. She's going to have to scrub that out. It's leather. It would smell. I stand up as well and replace the teacup and saucer back on the floating platter.

"I was speaking to Granger about my son."

He looks confused. It's like he recognizes all of the words and knows that they're in the right order, yet it still makes no sense to him. I understand. He was never the fastest broom in the shed. He fixes his eyes on Granger and she nods. "Scorpius has been having some…" she mumbles off never quite finishing her sentence.

"It's Mrs. Weasley now." He says with his gaze back to me and it's my turn to look confused. Why is he telling me about his mother?

"What?"

"Her name. It's not Granger anymore. She's Hermione Weasley now." It's said with just a hint of pride and a bit of a warning. I look over at Granger and wonder why she never corrected me. I know her name had changed, but still I called her that. Habit? He turns his gaze to her again.

"Everyone's here, 'Mione. We're waiting on you."

"Oh. I was…" She turns to me and I never thought that I'd see the day when Granger would look like she wanted to spend more time with me. She hesitates to leave.

"Malfoy, why don't you stay for lunch?" Potter asks and for a brief moment I have to remind myself whose house this is. Clearly, Weasley would rather I leave, yet Potter is inviting me to stay as if this was his house. Weasley surprises me.

"Yeah, you should stay." He clearly doesn't mean it and out of pure spite I feel like I should follow up on his invitation. I still haven't finished my conversation with Granger regarding Scorpius and Blaise's suggestion suddenly reverberate in my thoughts…

"Sure, why not?" Everyone looks stunned like they just lost a bet. I hope they did. Potter recovers first.

"Okay, well come on then. I'll put out an extra chair."

Again I wonder whose house is this. Weasley leaves the study last, behind me. I feel deeply uncomfortable. It's not just because of this entire situation, but because I find myself staring at his wife's backside as she walks in front of me. What the hell did she put in those biscuits!

XXX

What the hell was I thinking?

I must have been out of my mind. Was I Confounded? Did someone put an Imperius on me? I go back to my original suspicion that Granger put something in those biscuits, but it makes no sense. I can see no reason why she would want me around and I can see even less of a reason of what would possess me to stay here. Oh right. Blasted Blaise and his schemes…

They're everywhere; Weasleys, that is. I'm standing outside at the back of the house where a huge dining table has been erected and I'm looking at the Weasleys pouring out of Granger's kitchen. It reminds me of that time in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when she stomped on a pipe and hundreds of cockroaches ran out of their hole. It was absolutely disgusting and I made like a cat and was nearly halfway up the wall to get away from the disgusting creatures. It's like déjà vu.

There's the old mother and the decrepit husband. There's the one that got slashed by a werewolf. Speaking of which, there's my cousin the half-breed with his hair a bright shade of green. I heard he got placed in Slytherin – his one redeeming quality, which might explain the green hair at the moment. There's the Veela. Clearly she too had the biscuits because I cannot figure out what she saw in a Weasley. The one that married the twin had the biscuits as well, I think. These Weasley men have a knack for marrying women out of their league. There's the stick-in-the-mud one. There's the twin. Hmm, the other one died, didn't he? Oh well, thank Merlin he did the world a favour and rid of us of his presence. If only he had taken the rest of them with him. Tsk tsk. And there's the Weaslette. She seems to have put on a bit of weight, mostly in her chest and hips. I don't know what wizard would find her attractive. People always talk about her fire-red hair. It's more of an orange really. She looks like a carrot in winter. Potter must be happy, I suppose. I always saw him as asexual. And then there're all their little brats running around unleashed. Scorpius is running around with them as well. For shame!

A warming charm has been placed around the table. The food floats out together with Luna Lovegood and a tall wizard that I don't know. The guests fall into two distinct groups – one that watches me with open suspicion and one that pretends that I am invisible. Scorpius has signed up for the latter. Granger takes a seat and I find myself pulling a chair next to hers as everyone else's company is even less desirable than hers at the moment. At least this way I can continue our earlier conversation. When it is too late I notice that Luna Lovegood is sitting directly opposite me. Fuck! Her curious stare is bone-cutting. Everyone knows enough not to speak to me, let alone ask me what I'm doing here, but that will not stop Luna Lovegood. I suspect Potter convinced them not to attack me on the spot, but like I said, that will not stop Lovegood from asking me awkward questions. I take the time to inspect the cutlery. At least there are no marks on it.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Dennis Granger. I'm Hermione's father. I don't think I've met you before." The man next to me says and offers his hand.

I look down at his hand and wonder if he'll remember me if I say that I was his daughter's worst enemy for years, but I didn't know her as Hermione; I knew her as the filthy, disgusting and vile Mudblood. I take his hand.

"Draco Malfoy." He smiles and shakes my hand firmly like he's trying to remember why he should remember that name. He introduces me to his wife and I shake her hand as well. Our conversation is restricted to those safe and formal pleasantries the English should have patented. Everyone else ignores me. After a while our conversation lulls and all I can hear is the scraping of cutlery against china. Someone mentions something about the neo-Death Eaters that still haven't been caught. I glance up and Lovegood is staring at me. She looks like she's about to say something to me. Thankfully, Granger decides to get my attention. I swivel my body almost entirely to her just to block out Lovegood.

"You were right. I don't know anything about you."

"What changed your mind? This is a good risotto by the way. There's a really good recipe that uses champagne in it."

"You shook my parents' hands. The Malfoy I thought I knew would never have done that. I used ghee in the risotto. It gives it a distinctive taste. I'd like to try that champagne risotto though."

"'In youth we learn, in age we understand.' Well, the mushrooms are my favourite part. I've only had the champagne risotto in Venice. What is that, a mole sauce on these mushrooms?"

"That is a mole sauce. I roasted the Portobello mushrooms and then added the sauce. And I've never been to Venice. I've been too busy. Also, Marie Von Ebner-Eschenbach? Why Malfoy I had no idea that you subscribed to Muggle reading materials."

"My father is to blame or thank for that depending on your perspective." She gives me a look of confusion. "Yes Granger, he has reformed in prison. If he didn't after twenty years in prison, then there'd be no hope for him. But he has reformed. You really should make the time to go to Venice and have that risotto. The mushrooms are even better than the risotto, by the way."

"I find that hard to believe. The ghee was Padma's idea. You remember her, don't you? Padma Patil? She's the editor of the Daily Prophet now."

I put down my fork and she turns to me. "You find it hard to believe that my father has reformed or that your mushrooms are better than Patil's risotto?"

"It's a bit difficult to believe that your father has reformed."

"Do you know what's difficult to believe? What's difficult to believe is that I'm here sitting with you and all of these other…people," she looks at me suspiciously, knowing that I wasn't going to say 'people' but something a little more derogatory. "I'm eating your food. I'm eating off your plates. We're chatting about food and Muggle literature. I'm literally rubbing shoulders with Muggles. At one point in time every time I heard your voice or read an article that you wrote, it made me want to vomit. My hatred for you was so intense that the mere sight of you made me want to learn how to box." She puts down her cutlery and focuses on me her intense Granger-like stare.

"And now?"

"And now I think that clearly I've changed if my current position is anything to go by and I'm also telling you that my father was very influential in that change."

"He was always very influential with you, wasn't he?"

Her eyes briefly flick over to the tattoo that she knows is hidden under my long-sleeved black sweater. I look down at my arm then back up to her face. She looks at me defiantly, not caring that I caught her staring. She never did like to back down.

"He has changed and so have I."

She says nothing for a few moments, but I know that she's choosing her words carefully.

"I haven't seen you in years," she says quietly. I have to lean in to hear her. I'm already so close to her I can see that she has a light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose and precisely two freckles above her lips, under her right nostril. "I only heard brief things about you over the last twenty years – your imprisonment, your release, your marriage, the birth of your son, your wife's passing – you know, the things that would make the papers. Before that, the last time I had any interaction with you, was in the Room of Requirement. That's the last and most significant memory that I have of you in the last twenty years. That's the one that sticks out to me. You tried to give up Harry. You nearly killed me in the process."

"I was doing it for my parents." I hiss at her. "I didn't want the Dark Lord to punish us. I just wanted us to be safe in the eyes of the Dark Lord. I did it for my parents."

"You really did it for them?"

"I believe in honouring your parents. I believe in family, the horror of shame and the pride of duty. It was how I was brought up." I look back at Scorpius. He's at the end of the table. I narrow my eyes at him. Clearly he is up to some mischief. He briefly looks up at me and looks away like he never saw me. I turn back to Granger. She watched the entire two-second scene. Her eyes soften.

"He hates you." She says to me frankly.

"I know. He likes you, though. Make him stop." I realize a second too late that I sound desperate. She sighs heavily.

"I don't know if I can. Right now I'm in the same position as he is. He sees you as a smug, racist Death Eater and the problem is that I see you as the same thing."

I don't know what to say to her. I feel ashamed and defeated in that one moment and I don't know why. All I know is that this was a bad idea. I look down the table at Scorpius and he's laughing happily with the other children. The old mother is talking to him and he blushes as she ruffles his hair. The twin says something and the table explodes in laughter including my son. He turns to Potter's youngest son and whispers something that makes Potter's son's eyes bulge in shock as he blushes and pretends to be angry with him. He sticks his tongue out at Granger's daughter. Granger's son says something and all the children crack up, including Scorpius. I haven't seen my son laugh in ages. Is this what he wants? I can't give him this.

I get up suddenly from the table and walk briskly to the edge of the anti-apparition wards. I can barely hear Granger calling after me. I turn on my heel and briefly glimpse her standing against the backdrop of her frozen garden before I disappear to reappear outside my own house. She looked lost. I feel defeated.

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**A/N**: So, Malfoy ended up at the Boxing Day lunch. Never thought that would happen, huh? Did it seem natural enough? He's still a bit mean (see his thoughts on the Weasleys), but he does seem to be trying. Or is he trying too hard or not hard enough? Was Hermione right to be weary of him? Did he make enough of an effort? Review and let me know! Up next: Hermione!


	5. Chapter Three: Hermione

**Chapter Three: Hermione**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: I warned you that these chapters will gradually get longer.

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"What was up with Malfoy?" Ron asks me as he settles into bed for the night.

I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth, grateful that the kids have finally settled down. Scorpius didn't even seem to notice that his father left and by default the child had to sleep over. He sure didn't look like he minded. Were things really that bad that Scorpius didn't even want to spend any amount of time in his father's presence? I wash out my mouth, turn off the light and head to bed. Ron's already under the covers. I settle into him with my back against his chest and he wraps his arm around me automatically. We have fallen asleep this way for years.

Ron had asked me that same question after Malfoy's dramatic exit, but at that precise moment Luna announced her engagement to Rolf Scamander and then proceeded to ask Harry to take the role of her maid of honour since he was her best friend. Needless to say, everyone forgot all about Malfoy after that little question. Harry (who in the first place got very, very quiet after Luna announced her engagement) had spent the better part of an hour trying to convince Luna that he could not be her maid of honour by sheer virtue of him having a penis. George had spent that same half hour discussing how great Harry would look in a pink taffeta dress. Harry got woefully drunk after that. Then the kids had their Quidditch match and then we looked at some movies and everyone forgot about Malfoy. Well, I couldn't forget him. I couldn't forget the look on his face.

"I think that at some point in time over the summer, maybe before that Scorpius found out that his father used to be a Death Eater and somehow blames Malfoy for…what was his wife's name again?"

"Um…uh…Greengrass. She was a Greengrass. She was…she was…Daphne!" He remarks triumphantly to the back of my neck. "She was Daphne Greengrass. He married her and Zabini married the older sister."

"No, no, that's not right. He married Astoria and Zabini married Daphne Greengrass."

"Oh yes, yes. Wow, Malfoy sure fell off the face of the earth, didn't he? And now he's eating lunch in our back garden. Now how the heck did that happen? Since when are you and Malfoy buddy-buddy?"

"We're not friends at all. We tried to be civil to each other today, but that glass mask shattered quickly."

"Let me guess, he said something snide and condescending, insulted your heritage and for old times' sake said something about being careful that owls don't nest in your hair."

"No, he didn't say anything of the sort and that's just it. I kept expecting him to and he didn't do anything like that. He actually recommended that I try a champagne risotto in Venice. He was perfectly…nice and friendly."

"Now this is sounding quite suspicious. Malfoy's not nice. He's the devil's advocate, one of his henchmen, a spawn of the Grim Reaper. But he's definitely not nice."

Against my will I chuckle because Malfoy did look like the embodiment of death today dressed as he usually does in all black. But then I remember how he really looked. He had leant in close to me at the table; so close that I could smell his cologne; not his aftershave because he was sporting what was clearly at least two weeks' worth of beard. He has really intense grey eyes but they look intense with sadness, not the cruelty that I knew him to have. Under his eyes are a bit dark and I could only assume that he's not sleeping well.

Look at me! Since when did I care whether Malfoy was sleeping well or not? Before, I thought that he never slept what with being the Prince of Darkness and all and needing every waking moment to create mischief and discontent in other people's lives. But I saw another side of him today. I have another snapshot to add to my flashbacks of him. There's the one where I punch him in the face, the one where he's turned into a ferret, the one where he's looking into my face and saying that he can't be sure if it's me; the one where he's been sentenced to five years in Azkaban; the one where he's been released from Azkaban; the photo of him silently crying at his wife's funeral and the one where he looked at me today looking absolutely tired and defeated.

"But he was nice to me today. He didn't insult me or you or Harry. He spoke to my parents. He even shook their hands! He even ate my food and complimented it!"

"Oh yeah, by the way, you did a great job! Everything tasted great; especially that risotto. I'll let Padma know that you added the ghee like she suggested and it was a hit!"

I snort in exasperation. "Thanks." I mutter. He yawns against my shoulder. "Malfoy was perfectly civil to me. And I shot him down. He was trying and I shot him down. I'm no better than Scorpius. I never thought I'd say this, but I feel terrible for Malfoy. I ought to apologize. I keep telling Scorpius that he has to forgive his father for the things he's done long ago, but I myself don't believe it. The poor child probably sees right through me. Merlin, I'm horrible! He's coming to me for advice and I'm not exactly practicing what I preach! I should apologize to Malfoy. What do you think? . . . Ron? . . .Ron?"

I hear only heavy breathing and light snoring. The heavier snoring will come later. I feel stupid having said all that and he falls asleep. But I suppose Ron's right, though. Why should I keep myself up half the night worrying about that toerag! Good grief, there I go again! I settle into Ron further with a vague sense of guilt pulling me down.

Xxx

Ron is off today, thankfully. I owe Harry one for that. Harry lets Ron have the holidays, birthdays of his loved ones and important family moments (like picking up the children from the station) and Ron pays for this nepotistic act by working almost every other day of the year. I sometimes feel bad that as Head Auror Harry almost never gets to take a day off and even had to leave early yesterday to visit the office to check in on his many Aurors, but I'm so glad that he gave Ron these three days off. I'm positive that the children would have burnt the house down. He is looking after the children today who have decided that my house will be their play den for the day. Scorpius looked ecstatic.

Of all the days Ron decides that he wants to feel me up it's this morning. I wake up to his hand under my nightdress. He tries to kiss me and I pull away. I don't like kissing in the morning. With both our morning breaths, it's just not something I can handle, yet he insists. I pull away slightly annoyed. He kisses my neck, placing his hands in all the right places. He could do this to me in his sleep, which I think is not too far from the truth because he's still mostly half-asleep. We've been together for so long that he knows all the right buttons to push to get the right reaction. It's like a math problem to him – there can be no other formula to achieve the solution: a hand on my breast, another between my legs, etc. But he should also know what not to do – like kiss me in the morning. He's sloppy this morning and still half-asleep, so when he kisses me it's wet and messy and he practically spits up my nose. Absolute annoyance surges through me. Whatever heat I was feeling is now cold. I push him off of me, but he just rises above me, his hands on either side of my head, both of our morning breaths mingling together to give me a headache.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Stop. Stop it."

He's awake now. "What's the matter? Is it because you have to go to work soon? Are you worried about the children disturbing us, because I will get up right now and Stupefy every one of them." I try not to laugh at that, but I do. "'Mione, you should live a little, you know? Be spontaneous, try something a little different. Come on,"

Mr. Three Moves is telling me to be spontaneous? He could never be serious. I end up snorting out a laugh at this. He frowns. He's so near to my face that I can see the slight wrinkles at the corner of his eyes; I can count every freckle. He's trying to be patient, though. "'Mione, come on. Baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? We haven't really tried since the miscarriage."

My body goes rigid at the word.

He lowers himself to kiss my between my legs, but I am no longer in the mood, I'm not even in the bed as far as I'm concerned. "Ron? Ron?" He thinks I'm calling his name in pleasure, not for him to stop. A rude reminder of our present lives comes to stop our activities in the form of a loud crash outside the door and the instant eruption of quarrels among the children. "Bugger me," I mutter. "I would be so lucky," He jokes and I laugh and think that everything might not be so bad, despite everything.

Xxx

I reach to work late. I have two trials this morning, plus I have a meeting that I just know will require a pre-meeting to discuss the meeting and an after-meeting to consider what we just met about and when we shall meet again. I'm still trying to catch up in this new job. It's a little after twelve by the time my morning finishes and I wonder if Harry is available. I decide to check in and his secretary waves me through. When I get there he's sitting with his eyebrows knitted together and he's staring into space.

"Pondering the mysteries of the universe?"

He turns me to and smiles. "Wondering if to have a ham and cheese for lunch," he lies. I can always tell when he's lying. It appears that he was writing a letter to Luna, but he waves it away with his wand. I say nothing; instead only offer him a sandwich. He smiles when he sees it's actually ham and cheese. With a tap of his wand the glasses on the side table float over to us and juice is poured from the ewer.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." He lies again.

We sit in silence for a while, only chewing on our sandwiches and lost in thought. I love that I can sit with him and not feel obligated to break the silence. It's absolutely comfortable. But he also knows when I need to talk. He waits patiently for me to bring it up.

"I'm feeling bad about Malfoy," I eventually mutter.

"Why?"

"He was trying yesterday. He was nice to me. He spoke to my parents and not once did he call them filthy, ignorant Muggles."

"Don't you think you're holding the bar a little low there?"

"Oh come on, you know what he was like. He would never sit on my chair, eating my food and talking to my parents in a polite fashion. He'd probably rather hang himself."

"Pshh. He's too into self-preservation for that. Hold a wand to his neck and he'd probably make out with your Mum if he felt that there was no way out."

I laugh out loud. "You know, there are some images that shouldn't be called to mind and that was one of them." He chuckles easily. "But that's just it. I'm having trouble reconciling the old Malfoy with the one that was at my house yesterday. He says that his father has reformed in prison and that he's reformed too because of that. The only thing I didn't do was laugh in his face and say, 'yeah, Good one Malfoy.' I was horrible."

"Lucius has reformed? I used to I check up on him every now and then in the early years, but I've lapsed. I'm not sure about Malfoy, but I think he has changed some of his ways. He has reason to." I get the distinct impression that Harry knows more than he's letting on. "Malfoy served his time, but still he had a bit of a rough time. I'm sure he wasn't expecting a parade after his release, but the rumours probably got to him."

"What rumours? That he was still spouting Death Eater rhetoric?" Harry was never a gossip and neither am I, but he has learnt the importance of it in his job. I have belatedly learnt this important lesson.

"The years of the trials were terrible times, especially after Dolohov's trial and the rumours of what he did to some young boys. Rumours were circulated about Malfoy after his incarceration. You know how gossip is. People think that certain things happen to men inside there, especially a young, blond and good-looking wizard like Malfoy. Even if nothing happened they will say it did and I of all people know how quickly rumours can spread. Quite falsely, but by all accounts they so disgusted him he removed himself from the local social circle. The nasty among us would say that's why he married Astoria so quickly. I don't think so. Almost every wizard who entered Azkaban at the same time as Dolohov had rumours about those 'unnatural practices' – silly, stupid and ignorant term – spread about them, particularly if, like Malfoy, they were once in the Death Eater circles with Dolohov.

"But is he…?"

"Gay? Malfoy? By all accounts quite the opposite, from what I heard."

"You've been keeping tabs on him?"

"About three years now. It's part of my job."

Three years ago? Scorpius once vaguely mentioned in his letters that something happened three years ago that changed his family situation. He also made mention that he first met Harry three years ago.

"Did something happen to Astoria…I mean, before she killed herself obviously, but did something trigger her action?"

"Who knows…"

Harry was never a very good liar. I don't know why, but I have this odd and baseless suspicion that something happened to Astoria, something violent and Harry was called in to deal with the situation. I've only been the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for a few months; there are lots of cases I have to catch up on.

"I feel sorry for him. His son hates him. I don't know how it took him so long to find out that Malfoy was a Death Eater, but…he blames Malfoy for Astoria's death. He's in a tough spot right now and he really misses his Mum, which I suppose is why he started to write to me." I look at him wondering if he'll say anything. "He really needs his father right now, but I'm not sure that Scorpius is ready to face his father. He really needs his friends right now too." I look at him again.

"True. Al has been trying to be nicer to him, but he keeps pushing him away and at the same time I can see that Scorpius is trying, but when he's nice to Al it's like Al has some kind of abused victim mentality and doesn't know how to react when Scorpius is polite to him. Then of course as soon as Al returns the favour, Scorpius treats him like crap. Al's much closer to Rose. She's kind of stuck in the middle of those two fighting each other."

"Yep." I look into his eyes, holding his gaze like a good conversation. His eyebrows knot together and he averts his eyes in that way he does when he's thinking hard about something. He looks like he wants to say something. He opens his mouth to say, but we're interrupted by his secretary. It's a letter from Luna. He balks at the content and I can only assume it's another plea to be her male maid of honour. I get up to take my leave. I pause at the door.

"You should just tell Luna that you wouldn't look good in pink taffeta, but gold chiffon is sooo your colour."

I pull the door just in time as he crumples the letter and pelts it after me. I giggle going down the hall. It's nearing one and I stop by my office to see if my secretary would be able to get something for me. He stares at the request as if I asked him to lay a dragon's egg. I walk off before he has time to protest.

I get back from another meeting. As usual there was an after-meeting meeting. I'm hungry but as soon as I step into my office I see the pensieve is out and a memory is already stirring in it. I smile. My secretary is the best secretary in the whole wide world. I expect that he will take a three-hour lunch tomorrow as compensation for this. I sink my head willingly into the memories of Lucius Malfoy.

It takes me a while to adjust my sight to the darkness, but after a few moments I can clearly see the bare concrete walls, green with moss and decay. There is no window, only artificial light that bobs overhead without anything to hold onto. There's a toilet and face basin to one side. There are a few stacks of books on the floor and a bare and thin mattress heavy with mites directly on the damp floor. Lucius is sitting on the mattress reading. He is tall and looks utterly ridiculous with his knees almost to the side of his head. He looks dirty. His prison clothes look like he just swam through an oil slick and then got caught in a dust storm. His hair…well, clearly he is no longer using mermaid placenta to wash his hair or whatever aristocratic concoction he used to use to get his hair to be that silky. Now it looks like he washed it with spit. The heavy iron doors open to reveal a witch who leads him out in magical binds that I cannot see, but clearly are there as he can barely walk without tripping. His hands are invisibly bound to the front of him as well. He shuffles to another room - the visiting area. There are rows of cubicles, each separated by Plexiglass on three sides with dime-sized holes to speak through. On the opposite side of Lucius there stand Malfoy, Narcissa and Scorpius. Malfoy is holding a fruit cake.

"For me?"

"I'll give it to the guard for you. Hopefully they won't eat it." Malfoy says and smiles at his father. "Merry Christmas, Father."

"Merry Christmas, son. Darling wife, you look extraordinary. Quite an entrance. You have me captivated." Narcissa blushes and something unexpected like a yearning passes over me. I haven't blushed like that at anything that Ron has said or done to me in years. And then I feel almost sick with guilt and shame when I suddenly remember that I blushed like that yesterday with stupid Malfoy. I reel from the shock of it and miss entirely Lucius' greeting to Scorpius.

I take a deep breath. I blushed because of the heat from the teacup, is all.

"How are you holding up, son?" He asks Malfoy and I find that I can barely look at the memory of him. My word, Malfoy looks horrible. This was only the day before yesterday. He has bags under his eyes and his pallor is paler than ever. He looks thinner too. He glances over at his son before he looks at his father. His father seems to nod in understanding.

"Darling, please be a dear and allow me to speak to Draco in private for a moment." Narcissa nods and smiles absently and leads Scorpius away. Lucius waits patiently before he turns to Draco. "You haven't been sleeping well?"

"I haven't slept a full night's rest since she died. I thought I would get some sort of closure at the funeral, but it only seems to get worse. I swear Father; the walls are whispering her name and telling me that I am to blame. It doesn't help that Scorpius is blaming me."

"Still?"

"He saw something... coupled with him finding out that I'm a Death Eater. He's not like I was at that age, which is good I suppose. He wasn't exactly thrilled to hear the news. He doesn't hero worship me like I did with you." Draco says in a tone as if that clearly says 'duh'. He speaks as if he's teaching Grawp. Obviously, his father is used to condescension. It rolls off of him and he continues untouched by his son's natural conceit.

"He found out that you _were _a Death Eater."

"He doesn't see it as my past. He doesn't want to speak to me. I'm letting him get away with so much. I don't want to make your mistakes and push him until I push him away and it's too late to speak. I want him to speak to me, but he looks at me with fear and disgust. I turn my life around, but what's the point? Astoria is dead. For three years she suffered because my past dragged her down. I sometimes look back and wished that she had said no when I asked her to marry me all those years ago. I warned her about myself, about my past that no one will forget. She said that she didn't care. She said that I was a changed wizard and that I had learnt my lessons. She hadn't learnt _my_ lessons. She didn't realize that those who fail to learn the lessons of history are not the only ones who are doomed to repeat it. I've lost my wife and now I'm losing my son. I feel like I turned my life around for nothing. I'm still paying."

For a brief moment Malfoy looks like he wasn't expecting to say that much. Some sort of unravelling is happening here and I suspect it's why he was even willing to consider being at my house yesterday. Clearly, he is losing his mind. Lucius is silent for a few moments, allowing Malfoy to collect himself. Eventually, he speaks up.

"It is important that you are able to arrive at the end of your life with a mind filled with serenity, son. Should one ever find himself in the state of iniquity like we were, it is important to be disposed to a change of mind, to be full of regret and to ask for pardon. Scorpius thinks you disingenuous. I do not blame him. You habitually and voluntarily lived in evil and wickedness and would not have accepted to change your life at the last moment, but preferred and chose to remain in depravity and to continue to hate. But when you find it is too late to repent, you will discover the enormity of your ignorance and malice which have brought you to such a horrible and desolate end."

Lucius' sententious and still condescending tone has me shocked. Has he really reformed? Am I seeing and hearing right?

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Yes. But I still believe that I have a chance at real peace. I have repented and changed my ways. Have you really repented, son? You say you have Draco, but have you truly changed your ways? Maybe that is why you are still paying, as you say."

"Have _you_? You read Muggle books and think that you're better, that you're changed. You have not been tested. No one broke into your home and…" He trails off unable to finish whatever forbidden thought he felt unable to mutter.

"Quite true. Do not fall asleep with regret upon your soul and therefore in anger. Repent and ask for forgiveness because you do not know if during the night death will come as a thief. That's what I've been telling you for years and look what happened. Procrastination is one of your greatest faults. Always ask for sufficient wisdom to know your faults and humility to detest them.

"What have you done for Scorpius? Have you tried to teach him well, so that it does not happen that he himself is lost? Have you edified him by good counsel? Have you given him a few good words and above all have you let them feel the strength of your love, of your affection? I hope that . . . I have done that for you?"

"You have, Father, you have. I don't know if it is too little, too late, but you have changed your ways and I…I appreciate it, but I still feel so, so lost. I can't afford to lose my son as well." He holds his head in his hands like it weighs the world. After a few moments of silence he looks up at his Father, his expression shrewd and teasing,

"I hope that you're not repenting only as a way to buy yourself into some sort of heaven, you magnificent bastard."

"What, don't you think I'd look good with wings?"

"I suppose we can always get a maxi-pad and find out."

Lucius laughs and it does wonders for his face which had that weathered, weary visage of the condemned. His smile is gone too soon as he looks over at Malfoy who can barely crack a smirk now. "Keep trying and keep asking for forgiveness, son. Eventually people will forgive you and you will forgive yourself."

I shake my head out of the memory for I feel as if I've seen enough. I have to hold onto the table for the support as shame threatens to level me. I sit there for quite a while, not bothering to eat. I read Lucius' appeal files (quite a number of appeals and every one of them denied) and the Azkaban's warden's report on Lucius as well. The clock on the wall strikes six and it is only then that I stir from my thoughts. I need to get home.

Xxx

"Scorpius, is your father's Floo network open?" I ask as I set down dinner in front of him and the kids. Al is here too. He and Rose really are inseparable, while Hugo wanted to sleepover at Harry's so he and Lily could stay up all night and have battles against James. Unfortunately, I don't think that Al counted on Scorpius still being here. Scorpius is almost bi-polar when it comes to Al. One moment he'll speak to Al pretty good, but as soon as Al starts to return the affection, Scorpius treats him like shit. Yet they continue to hang around each other. Those two boys are very confused. Harry and Ron think that I shouldn't interfere because clearly if they didn't want to hang around each other, they simply wouldn't, no matter that Rose was each boy's best friend.

Ron was nice enough to keep the three of them out of mischief for the day. He's really good with children; I'll give him that. He managed to get them to take their baths the same time I made dinner so that they'd be out of my hair.

"No, ma'am. It's been closed some time now." He looks adorable in Hugo's borrowed clothes. It's slightly too small for him. His father might have a conniption though when he sees him. I put Ron's vegetarian dinner in front of him and then I sit to eat.

"It's been closed about three years now?"

Scorpius freezes and looks at me shrewdly for a brief moment. He then shoves food in his mouth and answers something unintelligible around it. He's a sharp one, this kid.

"Hmm. Have you ever taken a ride in a car?"

He looks up at me excitedly. "Oh can I come too, Mum? Please, please?" Rose interjects and Ron looks stricken. As much as he actually likes Scorpius he looked like he had absolutely no problem in dropping the child off in a sack that was delivered via Owl Post. Al apparently thinks the same thing judging by the look of utter confusion on his face. Rose might well have said she wanted to visit Tartarus. "I've never seen Malfoy Manor." She continues.

Ron looks like he's about to object when an owl scratches at the window. He gets up, opens the window and feeds the owl some treats. I already know it's from his other job and that he'll be busy all night. That's a Prophet owl. I lose my appetite and make up some excuse about going to warm up the car.

"Wait. We can all go with you, right?" Rose asks and I actually see hope slide off Al's face when I say yes.

Xxx

Scorpius is amazed by my vehicle which says something about his upbringing that my outdated Volkswagen Taureg amazes him. He couldn't get over the air conditioning and the radio and the leather seats. At one point in time I check the rear view mirror as one does from time to time when one is driving and I realize that Scorpius and Al are missing. Rose is sitting calmly in the middle looking bored. I slam the brakes hard, thankful that she had on her seatbelt. I look back and Scorpius and Al each have rolled down the windows and are hanging halfway out on the motorway!

"Bloody hell! What are you doing?! Get back inside!" I scream at them while motorists are passing. They are oblivious to the exhausted, hollow-eyed woman that I am, averting fireball collisions and negligence lawsuits at every turn, only seeing the crazy lady with the bad hair yelling at innocent children. I seal the windows with my wand. I have half the mind to turn off the engine and leave them in there with the windows shut! I'm sure that they didn't give Ron all this hell.

It takes me two hours to get from my home to Wiltshire where Malfoy Manor is located. They all wanted to go faster, no matter that I repeatedly warned them that being wrapped around a tree is not what they think it means. The roads are icy and after a while the children get bored and decide to sing the Hogwarts School song in every musical variety they could think of from operatic to funeral dirge. It didn't bother me so much but when the radio signal cut off and Al's and Scorpius' breaking voices echo off the glass and reverberate in my eardrums, I had to speed up. The radio cutting off was a good sign as it meant that I was nearing the magical community in which Malfoy lived. I send him a Patronus to let him know that I'm on my way. Ten minutes later I slam to a halt in front of a most impressive hedge. The children nearly get whiplash. I turn to look at them in worry. They look at each other and grin.

"Do it again!"

I roll my eyes. They melt into laughter as they exit the car and I am struck by the sudden need to throw up. They race up the gravel entry way with the imposing hedges with me staggering behind them and trying not to let it show. After about three hundred yards they come upon a gate that melts away for Scorpius. It's so natural for him that he doesn't even notice that the wrought iron metal designs are already reforming to ban entry to us. He looks back utterly surprised.

"Right, well he's home now so we can go." Al says already backing up to go to the car. Suddenly the gate's metal filigree designs fade away like smoke and there is Malfoy standing in the weak moonlight. He had been standing at the side of the hedge waiting for us all this time. He nearly gave me the fright of my life, but of course I pretend like I knew he was there all this time.

"Good evening, Scorpius," He looks at Scorpius' clothes and shakes his head ruefully.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy." Rose and Al sing in unison. He offers them a tired smile. Sometimes I think he doesn't know how to do that properly – smile that is.

"Granger,"

"Malfoy,"

"I'm guessing that you have some things you want to say to me."

Arrogant, smug brat. If he thinks I'm going to say that I'm sorry he has another thought coming. He gestures for me to come forward, but I seem rooted to the spot. My mind is telling me to move forward, but I seem to have lost all ability to move in a forward direction and now I just seem to be hovering.

"Scorpius, why don't you show your friends the labyrinth garden,"

"Come on, you can help me put on all the lights. They're activated by touch."

The children skitter off and still I am frozen there like the snow on the ground. I look up at the house – huge, black and spread out like a big, ugly bat. It looks heavy, fussy, inelegant and cold. Suddenly and inexplicably I am spouting water from my mouth. The little pointy-faced git laughs.

"I was right. You'd make an excellent statue, but an even better fountain." He points his wand at me and the water stops. Immediately I point my wand at him and he ducks a heinous hex that I throw at him. He fires back something at me. It's snow. I duck but keep chasing him.

"Malfoy! You conniving little –" I scream at him as he runs up the driveway, laughing and throwing harmless hexes at me like a child. He looks…happy. I don't even realize that I'm giving chase until I skid (my boots are not snow ready apparently) and land hard on my butt. The snow is seeping into my coat. He comes to stand over me, his blond hair falling over his forehead. He pushes it back before he offers me a hand, the conceited bastard. He's smirking.

"You're out of breath." I tell him.

"I know. I can't remember the last time I ran. A gentlewizard will walk, but never run."

"You need to join a gym. It'll keep you fit."

"A what?" I look up at him, but I'm not sure if he's being sincerely ignorant or just plain facetious. He offers his hand. I reach for it, but when he tries to pull me up I pull him down instead.

"Granger!" He positively squeals; spins and lands hard on his arse. "Witch, this is an expensive robe!"

"Oh get over it and stop being such a priss. You're dressed in black and blue. You look like a bruise."

He is scandalized and I laugh at his comically outraged face. "Well, excuse me for not wanting to wear a coat the colour of used pantyhose." I scowl at him, but he does it better. He sits up. "This is Italian. My designer has been making robes for the last seventy years. It's all he does. He matched this particular shade of blue perfectly to my skin tone."

I sit up and turn to him. "Are you seeing my face?" He looks confused. I clarify. "This is the face of someone who doesn't give a fart."

"Oh shut up. You're hair looks like a racoon found a place to hunker down for the winter." He says, lazily falling back on his old faithful insult. He gets up and pulls me up with him. Absently we start to dry our clothes with our wand, steam rising off of us in waves.

"Turn around, let me get your back properly."

He looks at me like I told him I wanted to be his executor of state and make the decisions on whether to keep him alive or pull the plug. "I am not turning my back to you. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"In the interest of keeping the peace I'll not answer that question."

He rolls his eyes and turns to walk up the path. He looks back at me for I'm pretending that I am most interested in warming my backside with my wand instead of moving.

"Hmmph! Gryffindor courage has an expiration date, I see."

I am so easy. With that little bait I march up the path just to prove him wrong. He turns suddenly left and then turns around to look at me. "Don't worry. I won't entertain you inside. We can sit in the gazebo in the garden." He says as he walks up the steps. Gratefully, he pretends not to notice how relieved I am.

The gazebo sits under a huge cypress tree that is covered in vines which fall over the gazebo and shift constantly. They have night blossoms that are odorous of something sweet, but light. I can hear the children shrieking in the garden maze. I feel like I fell into a romance novel.

"The lights are actually faeries. When you touch their wings they light up, but you have to catch them first." He says as he conjures two chairs – an armchair for me and a loveseat for him. He sits and spreads out all over the loveseat, crossing ankle over knee. I can see his pinstripe black suit underneath his robes that are outspread in waves of navy blue around him. He looks like he should have a phalanx of goons behind him. Or Death Eaters. I won't lie; he is a very, very good-looking wizard, but he is also the visual representation of conceit and money. I notice that he positioned my armchair in such a way that my back is to his house.

"Tea?" He asks as he performs a warming charm over the gazebo.

"No, thank you."

"Something stronger to warm your bones?"

"Vodka and cranberry if you have it."

He snaps his fingers and a moment later a house elf appears dressed in clean, dull grey miniature robes and with my drink already in tow. I give Malfoy a sly look and he rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes. Of course I pay them." I look at the house elf for confirmation and he smiles at me with a mixture of resignation and shame.

"Thank you, very much." I say when he offers me my drink. He hands Malfoy his drink, something a dark brown in colour and with no ice, and then he disappears with a soft pop.

Again there is a heavy and lumbering silence between us as we both sip on our drinks. I decide to break the ice, first by chewing on it obnoxiously loud enough that he is forced to look up at me and then by asking him a question.

"Why is it that when you're being a stereotypical arse I find it easier to relate to you?"

"I suppose you're familiar with it." I smile in pleasant surprise at his self-deprecation, but then hope dies as he continues, "It must stem from all that time you spent brown-nosing at Hogwarts."

I nearly choke on my drink and emerge sopping wet (even more so) to give him a skin-melting glare. He smirks at me.

"You make things so difficult, Malfoy. I came over here to –"

"To apologize, no doubt?"

"No, don't be absurd."

"Self-righteous bitch," He mutters into his glass.

"Arrogant git," I mumble in reply and we stare at each other with a century's old hatred of the incompatibility of cats and dogs. This is getting out of hand.

"Malfoy, this is getting ridiculous. We're thirty-eight years old. We have children that somehow managed to become something resembling friends. It's safe to say that we will be seeing a lot more of each other I suspect, for quite a long time. We have to put aside our bitter rivalries."

"Oh I'm not the one that's making this difficult."

"Really? You act like a complete immature and smug prat. It's like you never grew up."

"Give me some credit, Granger! Have you been obliviated? In case you forgot, you're the one that said that you can't think of me past the age of seventeen."

"In my defence, you act like it. Case in point – the reason my back is wet is because one, you made me fall –"

"Your two coffee-table legs made you fall. Last time I saw legs like those they were on a praying mantis."

"– after you attacked me!" I shout over him, "and two, because you refuse to trust me and let us dry each other's backs.

"I made the effort yesterday."

"Let me ask you a question. Answer me honestly. Would you have come to the lunch if I had not mentioned that Scorpius has been writing to me?"

He looks away into his drink and takes a sip before answering. The gazebo is slowly illuminated as the children catch the faeries. "Would you have come over here if my Floo network wasn't closed and thus forcing you to deliver my son to me another way?"

"No." I answer honestly. "Why did you leave him yesterday? As a parent –"

"Don't even go there." He warns. "Did I put you out?"

"No, Ron looked after the children today. I think Scorpius likes him." Immediately after I say it I regret it. Malfoy looks stricken and I imagine this is what his face looked like when he found out that Scorpius' best friend is Rose Weasley. He looks hilarious as his mouth has taken on the shape of a parallelogram. "Don't worry. I don't think that he's going to file for legal independence from you and ask to be an official Weasley." He gives me a withering look.

"Don't say such blasphemy!" I tamp down a bubble of laughter, feeling strangely guilty. "The reason I left is because I knew my presence would not have been missed."

I don't say anything, but my silence speaks confirmation. "Are you trying hard enough with him? Right now he's in need of parental figures. He writes to me because he's searching for a female parental figure. Doesn't he have one?"

"Did you forget that my wife died?" He asks with a snarl that makes me feel small.

"That's not what I meant."

"What, you think I'm back on the dating scene already and there are ladies waiting in the wings to be the second wife of Death Eater Draco Malfoy and can't wait to spend time listening to his son whine about how horrible I used to be and that I'm the reason that his mother is dead?"

"Why does he think that?" He dismisses the question and my suspicions only clinch around my heart.

"What about Narcissa? What about Pansy Parkinson? What about his aunt, Daphne?"

"Ever since he found out about me I think he has a problem with my entire family and the circles in which we used to run."

"I think that he might forgive you if he sees that you're making strides to be as far away from your Death Eater past as possible."

"And how am I to do that? This tattoo is permanent. The Dark Lord is no more, but the mark remains. I step outside into Diagon Alley and people move away from me like I'm some sort of skittish werewolf on the loose. It's been twenty years and sometimes I think that everything has subsided, but then . . ." He trails off.

"I think that if you and I become friends it might help him forgive you."

He looks at me with his eyebrows knotted in confusion. He slowly lowers his drink. "My word, you've been Imperioed."

"No I haven't! I can't want to be friends with you?"

"No, you can't!" He rightfully says.

"Okay, listen. I don't actually want to be friends with you."

"You're starting to make a lot more sense now, Granger. Just keep taking deep breaths. And besides, I don't imagine we'd be very good friends. What on earth would we talk about? We'd spend hours chatting banally about the weather."

"We're English. We could actually pass our time happily talking about the weather for hours."

"Quite true. Speaking of which, did you see that ice?"

"I know, it's terrible. The roads were horrible to drive on and –" I stop suddenly when I see him smirking at me. He was joking. Oh. I hide my smile behind a sip of my drink. I don't like it when he makes me laugh. I feel strangely guilty. I much prefer to laugh _at_ him, not _with_ him.

"ANYWAY, I think that if Scorpius sees that you and I are making the effort he'll see that if I can forgive you, so can he."

"You want to erase the stain on my humanity?"

"Yes. And is that a Daniel Bean reference?" I was referring to the novel that created quite the stir two years ago about a Muggleborn wizard passing as a Pureblood.

"Yes, I read the novel. It was quite interesting."

"It must have brought up some very interesting thoughts, no Malfoy, on prejudice?"

"Quite." His face has been schooled into blankness. I decide to move on while mentally cataloguing this moment for future reference.

"I propose that we become friends by working together to help Lucius escape the Kiss."

"What?" He stares at me, his eyes instantly turning greyer, darker and suspicious.

"I'm serious. I work for the Wizengamot and I am going to bring up a bill to be passed that no witch or wizard who has been on death row for more than ten years should receive Capital punishment."

"He has one more appeal coming up."

"I know. So you need to put into writing expressing sympathy for the victims of violent crime and their relatives; calling on the authorities to commute Lucius Malfoy's death sentence immediately to release; expressing deep concern at this apparent intention to resume the use of the death penalty in England after three years without executions and urging the authorities not to take this step; emphasizing that the death penalty has not been shown to be any more of a deterrent to violent crime than any other form of punishment; and finally emphasizing his rehabilitation."

"I've done that for all the previous appeals."

"I know, but I was not on the Wizengamot before."

"I'm not sure about this."

"What's not to be sure about?" I tick off my answers on my hand. "This is his last appeal and if it fails he will die. I am trying my best to overturn the ruling so that even if he is denied this appeal to be released he will still have his life."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I . . . I've always wanted to change the law regarding capital punishment. It's time for it to change. The law's archaic and needs to be reflective of the magical community's contemporary mores and jurisprudence. A lot of the laws are actually in favour of Purebloods and I plan on making a change in that area as well, to bring more equality to wizards and witches, not just the Pureblooded ones. When I saw you yesterday, it was…highly uncomfortable. I've had this image in my mind of you for so long…to see you being civil to me, to see how much you care for someone other than yourself . . . You told me that Lucius had a huge impact on your change and jail had a huge impression on him. I looked into it and I believe you now. I think that Lucius has paid for his crimes. I honestly think that he should not get the Kiss. I think however, that you're still paying for your crimes at the sacrifice of your son. I hope that I'm not judging too quickly, but I don't think that you deserve that and if by working with you to free Lucius we can make Scorpius see reason then I want to help you. I think that you're trying very hard, but you need help with him."

"There are some things I need to consider." He says softly after a while. I just don't get it. I can't see what he could possibly not like about this idea. After a few moments of silence I ask him,

"Is it that you prefer him to die than to languish in Azkaban until his heart finally gives out?"

He looks up at me and I can tell that that was not the thought that that was going through his mind, but it is now. I can see a particular look in his eyes. He's thinking and calculating and planning. I wonder what Slytherin cunning he's up to…

The night is chilly and I can see his breath coming out in nacreous ribbons in the air despite the warming charm. He looks somewhat uncomfortable and I suspect it has something to do with his pride that me, the Muggleborn Hermione Weasley, is offering her help. I open my mouth to tell him as much when we hear a loud crash like a window breaking.

"Bloody hell," we both mutter and he gets up. He nudges aside the vines and looks out into the garden. He walks back, pauses and leans down in front of me, his hands hemming he in. "You don't have to go in there."

The memories of Bellatrix Lestrange and the horrors she caused me floods me and my breath hitches.

"Granger, listen to me," I'm looking at him but all I can see is Bellatrix's sneering face. "You don't have to go in there. I don't even go inside my living room anymore. Sure, the little brats might have ripped a hole through time and space and found a way to create enough unimaginable chaos now and for the foreseeable future, but you still don't have to go in there."

He gives me a watery smile and I snort out a laugh and again I have that guilty feeling with it together with surprise. But wait. Is Malfoy being considerate? I move to get up, but he's still leaning over my chair, his eyes locking with mine. He really does have very captivating eyes.

"Malfoy?" A male voice says.

Malfoy straightens up so quickly that I swear I heard something pop. I spin around and I see Theodore Nott standing there. He's always in the papers what with him being the director of MIA – the leading apothecary and potion-making business in London and maybe Europe.

"Nott, I wasn't expecting you so soon. When is your Portkey due?"

"In an hour."

"Alright. I'll attend to you in a bit. Please, step inside."

"It's alright. I'll get what I want on my own. I'm sorry to interrupt your…meeting."

Malfoy gives him a slight frown that sets Nott on his heels. We follow behind him wondering what mischief the children have gotten themselves into now.

* * *

**A/N**: So, of course self-righteous Hermione takes it upon herself to 'save' Lucius and come to Malfoy's aid. But did Hermione simply walk into Malfoy's trap? Did he listen to his father – has he really changed? And what happened those few years ago that neither Malfoy nor Scorpius can hardly bear to speak of it? Up next: Albus!


	6. Interlude: Albus

**Interlude: Albus**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Slightly different chapter here. Children getting into mischief, but their mischief of course will affect Hermione and Draco's relationship…

* * *

I look over at him and he has this bored expression that makes me want to punch him in the face. It's like his default expression. Rose and I had been running after the faeries and I look back and he's standing there like he couldn't be bothered by the whole thing. It was just another day in the life of being super-rich, super good-looking, super-talented, super arrogant Scorpius Malfoy.

"What?"

My eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when Rose asks me that question. I was speaking out loud?

"What?" I ask innocently. She gives me a sly smile.

"What did you just say about Scorpius?"

I roll my eyes as if she asked the world's stupidest question, but really I was searching for a way to get out of this grave I'd dug myself into.

"Well, I actually think he's a super arsehole, but you know his nickname at school – Iron Dolly? It's because some people think he's good-looking but cold like steel. That's the reasoning behind it, right?" Somebody stop me! Why can't I just stop talking?! I dip down at the moment to touch a pretty little faery wing. I thought I would be hiding my blush but the faery's lighted wings only emphasize it.

"Uh huh," Rose mutters and I swing around to ask what does she mean by that when, ironically, I am saved by Scorpius.

Scorpius Malfoy was never someone that would have entered my circle of friends or even my line of vision had it not been for Uncle Ron. Last year on the platform 9¾ there stood Scorpius minding his own business, just like I was, when Uncle Ron spotted him. Uncle Ron attempted to cure Rose of a disease that she had yet to have – the need to speak to Scorpius Malfoy – by issuing a threat that he'd disown her for even entertaining the idea of being friends with the boy and not surpassing him in everything that she does. I know Rose. It was virtually impossible for her not to take that as a challenge and now that she was forbidden to become friends with Malfoy, she wanted it more than ever. She hadn't even waited for us to reach to school. She sought him out on the train. Though, I suppose that part was a little bit of my fault.

I was actually trying to make myself look very small and pretend that I was furniture. It wasn't too difficult as my Dad was still on the platform and until he moved all attention would be focussed on him. That's why he rarely went out and I didn't blame him. Faces were pressed against the windows in utter curiosity and delight bordering on mania and I seized the opportunity to find a compartment for Rose and myself. Of course fate hates me and I couldn't just choose an empty compartment, but I chose the one that Scorpius Malfoy was sitting in. I opened the door and he had on such a scowl that I lost my voice.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

He knew my name?! Damn you, Dad! Damn you and your fame!

"Well?" It was a simple question, but he has asked it so violently that he might as well asked me if I wanted to be Crucioed. The funny thing is that he didn't even dislike me then the way he does now. That was just the way he spoke when he was nervous.

"I-I-I-I-I-I-"

"Oh shut up. You sound like you're starting a motorcycle." He dismissed me.

Rose, the traitor, laughed. I spun around at her to see her eyes gleaming. She had spotted an opportunity. He looked over at her, looked her up and down more like it, and gave her a curt nod. He'd figured out who she was. I always wondered if his father had pointed her out to him as well and told him to stay away. "Weasley," he greeted her. I always wondered if his father pointed to me and said, 'dislike him on sight, son.'

"Oh don't mind him, Malfoy. He just gets a bit nervous sometimes and when he's nervous, he stutters. When he had to go to flute lessons (because his Mum insisted that all the kids learn an instrument) as soon as he put his lips to the flute he stuttered so much that he played a famous concert solo and he hadn't even started yet." Malfoy smirked.

"Chocolate frog, Scorpius?" She offered him and he accepted. Now he was Scorpius? By the time the food trolley got around she would be inviting him over to her house for summer vacation. We never quite got along, Scorpius and I, but we tolerate each other. He terrifies me. I imagine that I exhaust him.

And now here he comes to save me from Rose's knowing smirk.

"Hey Potter, you think you can climb up there?"

I look up to where he's pointing out. It's a second floor tilt window that's open. There's no light coming from it. I look back at him.

"I suppose. Can't you just get in from inside the house?"

"Merlin! That's possible? You mean I can enter my own house from the inside?" His sarcasm used to be stinging, but I'm used to it by now.

"Boys," Rose says tiredly, clearly she's not in the mood to chastise. "Scorpius, what are you on about?"

"My father has something in that room. I cannot open the door either manually or magically. I have no idea what it could be. But that window is not usually opened. How odd. . . I wish I had my broom. I've always wanted to know what was in there."

"Maybe it's the literal skeletons he has in his closet?"

"With my family tradition I wouldn't be surprised." He mutters. "I think it's something from his Death Eater days."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Have you considered asking him what's inside there?" I ask him.

"No, the thought never occurred to me. You always have such novel ideas?" I ignore his sarcasm. It just rolls off of me now. "Look I'm just curious, alright. The only persons who ever really go inside that room are my father and Mr. Nott probably once every other month or so."

"Mr. Nott?" I ask.

"Theodore Nott, Al," Rose says in that eager way that makes her a target for teacher's pet jokes. "He's the director of MIA." Scorpius has an odd expression on his face like he wants to correct her, but decides against it. I think that's a wise choice. Nobody should get into an argument with Rose. They always lose. Uncle Ron and Dad are yet to win an argument with Aunt Hermione.

"Anyway, Potter I reckon you're small enough to get up there. I would ask Rose, but she's a girl, so…"

Now I'm not sure if he did that on purpose or what because he had to have known that Rose would have seen that statement as a challenge and an opportunity to rally against sexist prats like himself. The two of them are incredibly smart and nauseatingly naïve during this moment. I'll not say which one is which.

In no time at all Rose pushes past us to grab hold of a well-placed vine that give homes like Malfoy Manor that respectable aged look and gives it character. I'm afraid for her safety and hurry over in case she falls.

"Rose!" I whisper fiercely. I could still hear Aunt Hermione's and Mr. Malfoy's voices in the gazebo. The vines that cover the gazebo like a canopy are blocking them from seeing us and apparently they are the same type of vines that are all over the house, and they don't take too kindly to being used as a twelve-foot ladder. They immediately begin to shift.

"Rose!" I whisper again.

"Stop that!" Scorpius is right next to me whispering fiercely to the plant. I look at him in exasperation.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm talking to the plant!" He whispers to me. I look at him. He pauses when he realizes what he's just said. "Shut up!" He says petulantly and I smile unwillingly pretending not to notice his shame. The git.

"We have to steady the vine." I say to him. I grab onto the vine and yank it down a bit to keep it in place. "Rose, get down now! If your Mum catches you, she'll…" I don't finish. I'm sure she can fill in any number of undesirable punishments that she can think of.

Scorpius comes to stand directly to the side of me and says, "She's almost to the window. Come on, give me a boost."

"What!" I look up and sure enough Rose is stretching her right arm and leg to the window sill. I look back at Scorpius and suddenly he's right in front of me with his hands on my shoulders. He could never be serious! He's looking up so luckily he can't see the expression on my face.

"Sc-sc-sc-sc-" Oh great. And now the stuttering has returned.

He pushes down and raises his right leg. Instinctively I let go of the vine and cup my hands for him to use as a step. He jumps and ends up levelling his entire torso against my face. The vines swing again and I look up to see that Rose has disappeared. Panic grips me. Then there she is. She sticks her head out of the window. "You guys have got to see this!" She whispers.

"Potter, mind the vine! Get up here. Our weight will steady it!"

Now that seems like faulty logic to me, but this is the world of magic and they get away with breaking physics laws all the time. I have to jump twice to grab a vine that seems intent on getting away from me. I climb up after him. It ought to be noted that I have almost no upper body strength. Sitting on a broom playing Quidditch generally does not encourage that.

I pant and struggle my way up the vine, my body sweating and radiating heat. I look up and I can see the ends of Scorpius' legs (with his good black shoes on his feet and Hugo's slightly too tight borrowed pants) disappearing through the window. I'm directly behind him and I pull myself up with one last heave, reach out and stick my head in just as the vine begins to sway in protest again. I have to wriggle myself in, suck in my stomach, kicking in mid-air until I fall through in a tumble – on top of Scorpius.

Will the mortification never end?

I roll off of him and we both lie there, breathless.

"Boys, you have to get a look at this."

I suppose it's part fear, part exhilaration and sheer embarrassment that make me yank up, nearly losing my balance. The room is dark but lit by a bright white light that comes from Rose's wand.

"What the hell are you doing?" Scorpius whispers to her fiercely as he scrambles up from the concrete floor to cover the tip of Rose's wand. "Are you crazy? What if Father sees the light from the room?"

"Right, right," and she takes it off immediately. She had it on just long enough for me to see what was so interesting. Now the room is illuminated by the light of the moon.

Again, I suppose it is part fear, part exhilaration and sheer embarrassment that made me not notice the stench before. It's an acrid, musky stink that nearly makes me faint and I get it like a kick to the head.

"My word! Are those…are those serpents?" Scorpius asks in wonder. I suppose it's because of his Slytherin background that he isn't disgusted like I am.

"Or something like it," Rose says as she peers closer to the boxes with the clear glass on the five sides and window-screen lids on top with latches securing them in place, about fifty of them stacked on a huge wood table. All we can really see without getting too close are S-shapes and hear an incessant hissing and lashing and splashing as the creatures slam themselves against the glass crates that are filled with water. The room looks to be some sort of storage area. There is a lot of old furniture, most of them with white sheets hanging over them. "I've never seen serpents like these before." She says and I have to agree with her.

Most of the snakes are bright white or bright green in colour as is the case with the smaller ones; their scales reflecting the moonlight in a rainbow of colours. I peer closer and one opens up his large mouth to show me a bright pink inside and the longest fangs I have ever seen on a snake. Its eyes are white too and thin; paper-like wings protrude from his neck with his scales looking keeled, like sugar granules.

I reel back. Rose is right (as always) in that I have never seen anything like that before. Some of them have fine, plastic-like tentacles protruding from their heads.

"I want this one." Rose says and Scorpius and I turn to look at her in confusion.

"What?" We say in unison like two dumb echoes.

"I want to study it. Come help me move this small crate."

"Are you insane?" I can see the vein in his neck raising. He's standing close to me, forgetting his etiquette that keeps us at least eight inches apart. "My father would kill me! You can't take any."

"I'm only taking a small crate from the back," she says as she tries to wrench free a crate from a tight spot in the back. I'm not stupid. I can see that the crates are arranged in a particular order, stacked atop each other just so for the snakes to get sufficient air coming into the screen lids on their crates. It's like taking an orange from the very middle bottom of a pyramid pile. Scorpius and I rush forward to ensure that the others don't fall. Belatedly, I wonder what Mr. Malfoy would do if the boxes still fall and I end up with snakes and broken glass raining down on me. Ah, I don't have to worry about that because I'd be dead. If Mr. Malfoy doesn't kill me, Dad will…or more likely I'd die from fright before they ever find out.

She manages to wedge it free with Scorpius' help. I back away to the centre of the room as quickly as possible while she makes her way to the window. All the time we can hear the angry hiss and violent thrashing of the snake. It's a small box – like a shoe box almost– and she can hold it under her arm easily. Of course she holds it as far away from her as possible. She looks through the window out at the vine.

"Here," She hands Scorpius the box. "I'll go down the vine and you can throw the box down to me. I'll sneak over to the car and store it in the trunk."

"That sounds like a marvellous plan, Froggy. I can't see this latch spinning open and emptying this snake all over your face at all."

"Do you have a better idea? Because we can't use magic outside of school."

"As a matter of fact, yes." I argue. "I say, we leave the snake here, climb back down and wait by the garden like the good children we are."

"I don't always agree with him, but I think that Potter over here is the voice of reason."

_Now_ he agrees with me.

"Scorpius, I just want to study the snake. I'll carry it to Ms. Luna and she'll let me know if she's seen it before, if it's dangerous to be in the house, that sort of thing. She can be trusted. I'll bring it back. I'm sure I'll see you after tonight. I'll make sure of it. And your father will never even know that it's missing. You yourself said that he only comes in here once every other month."

It sounds ridiculous, but Rose is not to be stopped. I know that she's probably high off the adrenaline of getting to study something odd and unknown (to her) in detail. She's not thinking of the consequences. She's not thinking! She throws both her legs out the window and grabs for the vine. We stick our heads out the window to watch her descent (into madness, I think). I try to ignore the violent slapping of the snake against the box.

"Why do you think he has all these snakes?" Scorpius asks me.

"Like I would know. He's _your_ Death Eater father. I don't know what he gets up to."

He turns to me. Because we are this physically close I can see that he was hurt by that statement. I should have known better. A Howler he received from his father in first year initially ignited the talk around school that his father was a Death Eater, but it was I who confirmed it for him. I feel horrible for reminding him of that and I try to backpedal. "I mean,"

"Forget about it."

"Scorpius,"

He ignores me. Instead, as he makes more elbow room for himself and the box, he shoves me aside and when I straighten up I hit my head hard against the pane of the window and it breaks, but I'm not cut.

"Shit! I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" He asks in what could be mistaken as tenderness, but I know he's not capable of that. I nod dumbly, distracted as he inspects for brain damage or something. He leans in a bit to look closer, to scrutinize me, but pauses inches away from my face. He looks in my eyes for a second; one of those seconds where I know could change everything. He looks not like the constantly sneering jackass that I know him to be, but like an actual person with actual feelings and I can see all the hurt and anger he usually hides away from the world. Then I breathe too hard or blink or something for he's shaken out of whatever great idea was going to come to him and the moment has passed. He turns away briskly and says, "Hmm, I hope Father didn't hear that."

I can barely think in complete sentences, but his words break things down into reality. I have a sudden image of Mr. Malfoy and Aunty coming upon us and though the scene is blurry in my head, I know that it ends with me being murdered in a fit of rage from Scorpius' father and my aunt. I'm much too young.

"Listen, Rose is not thinking of the consequences." I tell him. "You know how she gets when it comes to learning new things. You saw her when she stepped into the Hogwarts library for the first time. You _cannot_ let her take this snake. Your father would kill you. My aunt would kill Rose. And _my_ father would kill me for just sitting here and not doing anything and I can't afford to be dead right now. I'll Stupefy you if I have to." I take out my wand to more look the part of threatening.

"_You_ can Stupefy people?"

"_That's_ the part you focussed on?!" I hiss at him in anger and he does the strangest thing. He smiles at me. I can barely remember the last time I saw Scorpius smile genuinely.

"You might get expelled for using magic out of school." The smile has diminished and he's smirking now. He's teasing me. He's _teasing_ me! And not in his usual tone of condescension and disdain, but almost like if we were…friends. I force myself to turn my face from him.

"That would be the least of my problems if I let you give Rose that snake and our parents find out."

I give him a sideways glance. He looks like he's about to say something witty and sarcastic, but at that precise moment the snake lashes hard against the box and it slips straight out of his hands and falls through the window. I wait with my heart in my throat for Rose's screams of terror to pierce the night. It never comes.

I lean outside the window to see her carefully avoiding the broken glass and picking up the box that fell into the hedge...with no bloody snake in it!

"Scorpius! Rose! Al!" I hear Aunt Hermione and Mr. Malfoy shout our names and we both pull back just after we see Rose duck behind the hedge, a hedge possibly crawling with a dangerous viper.

"Shit! We have to get out of here quick."

I put away my wand, stick my legs out the window and reach for the vine. From this vantage point I can see the labyrinth garden below in its spiral pattern and lit by the faeries. I can see the top of the gazebo which is made of glass, the huge cypress tree with the hanging vines. The tree lurches over the gazebo like a monster about to pounce. The vines have not completely covered the top of the gazebo and I can see that Aunty and Mr. Malfoy are no longer there. I can't see them from where I am, so I assume that they must be at another part of the estate or inside the house. That's not good. I whistle sharply and Rose looks up from her position hidden in the hedge. She rises and there are leaves stuck in her hair together with a feary, but at least she doesn't have a huge albino snake attached to her neck like a white, scaly scarf. She gently removes the faery. I give her a signal for her to run and she takes off in a speed.

I reach for the vine which has decided that it has had enough of twelve year olds swinging on it for one night thankyouverymuch and I have to really stretch to reach it as it shifts from me.

"Scorpius, come help me."

"How do you expect me to help you?"

"Just hold my left arm while I stretch, so if I do fall you'll still have me."

"Fine." He seizes my hand in a death grip (I suppose to compensate for how sweaty his palm is). My fingers are just brushing the vine when I hear a noise outside the door.

"Shit! Father! He's probably coming right in here. Grab the vine or I'll push you out, Potter!"

I know that as much flak that Mr. Malfoy is letting Scorpius get away with recently, this is not something he'd let slide. And I know that Scorpius would rather eat hot coals than let his father find him in this mess.

I can hear the sound of footsteps and Scorpius scrambling to get out the window. He lets go of my hand and I feel the absence as if I had been holding his hand all my life. Is he seriously considering throwing himself over the window just to avoid being caught? I manage to grab the vine, but not Scorpius' hand for when I look back he's gone. My heart ends up in my throat. I can see light flooding the room suddenly after I hear a door close.

Shitting Merlin! Scorpius is still stuck inside there!

I can hear footsteps pausing and continuing; heavy sometimes, sometimes light. I'm having a near uncontrollable fit of fear. I can hear Aunty at the front of the house.

"And where exactly have you been, young lady?" I hear Aunty say.

"We were playing Hide and Seek. I had to Seek."

"Why are you sweating? It's practically freezing? And why do you have leaves in your hair?" Rose does not give an audible answer to that question.

"Well the game's over. They better come out now. Where were you playing? In the garden?" Mr. Malfoy asks.

Wait. If he's there, then who's inside the room with Scorpius?

"No! We were over on that side!"

I could only assume that Rose pointed in the opposite end of the manor because she knows what would happen as soon Aunty and Mr. Malfoy bend the garden corner only to see me dangling precariously from a vine.

The footsteps retreat and I hear the door shut close. I scramble back up the vine (which is doing a good job of trying to shake me off) and somehow make it into the room without harm.

"Scorpius!" I whisper.

He emerges shaking and radiating fear and relief from behind a huge tower of a bureau or wardrobe or some kind of big furniture covered under a white sheet. He's absently rubbing his lower back and that makes me wonder what kind of contortionistic ability he pulled off to get a good hiding spot.

"Oh thank heaven, you're alright. Come on, let's go. Rose has them on the other side of your ridiculously huge house." I say to him, already at the window.

"You didn't leave me?"

I turn to look back at him.

"Why would I leave you?"

He stares at me blankly for a moment then regains his senses. I realize that he now recognizes our tentative acquaintance has been promoted to a friendship. In an effort to make him feel less awkward I say,

"I wouldn't leave you. You get caught, I get caught. But once we reach down there and face Aunty and your father, it's every man for himself, you hear?"

He rolls his eyes and offers me another genuine smile.

He goes down the vine first and I follow him. Of course fate does not see fit to reward me for my burst of bravery and instead keeps putting me in painfully awkward situations. I fall atop Scorpius. Again. He doesn't hex me into another dimension so I suppose he must actually be disoriented from his fall. I feel bad and I'm about to ask if he's okay when he surprises me with his comment,

"It was Mr. Nott who was inside there. He took the venom from a couple of the snakes and put it into vials. He made a couple of notes and put the notebook back in a cabinet there."

I don't have any comment to this. I sluggishly get up off of him and I don't get time to dwell on his conspicuous lack of reaction to my slow reaction time. My mind is too busy with other things, like thinking up an alibi.

We round the front of the house and bellow for Rose. She comes running with Aunty and Mr. Malfoy right behind.

"Where the hell were you?" They both ask at the same time.

"Playing hide and seek," I answer, breathing hard.

They stare at me. I avoid their gaze.

Mr. Nott steps out from the side of the house where Rose just came from and he is a welcomed distraction.

"Malfoy, I'll be leaving now. I'll speak to you later."

Mr. Malfoy nods and looks on as Mr. Nott walks down the driveway. The gates have still not reappeared and as soon as he's past the point where they'd be, he disapparates with a loud crack.

"Well, I best be going as well. Malfoy, think about what I said." Aunty says.

"I will. I'm a little busy tomorrow, but I'll contact you in a couple of days."

We walk back to the car with Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius standing in front of their majestic house looking at us retreat. Aunty gets in the car, but does not start it at once.

"I know that you two were up to some mischief. If I hear even one complaint from Malfoy about any property damage or anything like that, I'll make you deeply regret it."

She turns back around and gives the Manor a final withering glare before she starts the car.

"Hmph! One minute I'm not seeing Malfoy at all; he's scarce like gold. The next minute I can't stop seeing him. He's at train stations, he's at my house, _I'm_ at his house…" She mumbles driving out the lane.

I look at Rose. "Where's the snake?" I mouth to her and she shrugs as she rubs her hands furiously on her jacket as if wiping it clean. We sit and silently stare at each other as we contemplate the disaster that this is.

We try to keep ourselves out of Aunty's hair for the ride back by not getting into any mischief. Rose says she feels sleepy and practically falls asleep before she finishes her sentence. We reach her house and Aunty lets me Floo home. It's nearing midnight by the time I get to bed and I'm absolutely tired, but my mind is absolutely not. It keeps replaying all the things that happened tonight, while resting on some highlights. I do eventually fall asleep, but at around minutes to six I wake up because Mum and Dad are interrogating me on how on earth Rose ended up poisoned.

Oh no. Aunt Hermione is going to kill us.

* * *

**A/N**: So, what's with those snakes? Talk about symbolism, huh? So, what did you think about the kids' mischievous adventure in this chapter? And will this scenario bring Hermione and Draco closer or further apart? The plot's starting to develop. Let me know your thoughts when you review. Up next: Draco!


	7. Chapter Four: Malfoy

**Chapter Four: Malfoy**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

* * *

I've always been an early riser. At one point in time it was because I was young and had so much energy and things to do that I couldn't afford to waste precious hours sleeping away the day's potential in bed. At another point in time it was because of school. At another time the reasoning was that I found it difficult to close my eyes when the Dark Lord and then prison kept me practically shaking with fear – I was in a perpetual state of being terrified to look over my shoulder in case of who or what I may find behind me. After that it was because I felt young again. I had a new wife and there were so many better things that I could be doing in bed besides sleeping. Those were the days that I'd rise with the sun in all manners of speaking. Later it was due to Scorpius being an early riser. Children are so needy. During his baby days I found a new, deeper understanding and respect for my parents, especially my mother and of course the house elves that had to put up with me.

Now I have no wife and Scorpius could barely be bothered to look in my direction much less call on me for something he may need, so I am free to turn in my bed as much as I want. But of course fate is cruel and I don't, or rather I can't stay in late. I've lost so much sleep that most nights I waver between a neither-here-nor-there stupor, hovering amidst sleep and wakefulness. I see Astoria sitting on the edge of the bed. She turns to me and smiles, but then she inevitably twists and morphs into more melancholy images where she's wet and covered in blood. This has happened every night since, yet still my heart jumps as if trembling in an earthquake. I squeeze my eyes shut because all I want to focus on are those spots of lights that appear behind my eyes – green, yellow, iridescent blobs of light that burn through the darkness – and not the ghost of my dead wife. I can't keep that up forever and so eventually I must get out of bed to do something, anything to get away. Of course now the only reason I have for rising early is my tortured mind.

Something scratches at the window and my muscles lock with terror. It's only an owl. Whew! I get up, open the window and shoo away the creature, unfairly blaming it for nearly giving me a heart attack. I receive a message that says I should come to St. Mungo's immediately and that I should bring the antivenin for Tempatio Mellitus – the sweet temptation snake.

It's a little after six in the morning by the time I reach there, but I'd rather be surrounded by other people's sickness than face the one in my own mind.

xxx

I'm now on the first floor with Healer Prakash in his office. He makes me wait for forty-five minutes because he says he has to attend to a patient who was in desperate need of this antivenin. He contacted Mr. Nott, he says, but was told that Mr. Nott is in America and could never make it back in time and was thus told to contact me. He's a gangly, balding man whose looks alone might be detrimental to his career. He looks completely incompetent. I don't know how someone can look incompetent, but he just does. He slightly resembles Granger's husband, so maybe that's why when I look at the man all I see is a walking waste of time. Anyway, he has returned and is now berating me.

"We have to wait too long for these potions, Mr. Malfoy."

"Well, time is a great healer, I hear." He does not look amused. Why does no one ever get my jokes? We battle on through like that. I make snide comments, he ignores me. A half hour later I step out of his office and I can see that the accident and emergency area of the first floor is starting to full up. I need to use the toilet and passing by I hear a crawling wizard telling the Mediwitch that he was dared to stuff two doxies up his arse and now he can't feel legs. The Mediwitch asks how long he hasn't been able to feel his legs. That would not be the first question that would come out of my mouth.

I use the toilet and I am about to move on to my next meeting that's supposed to be in Ireland when walking by I swear I spot Rose Weasley lying on a cot inside one of the rooms. I walk back and peep in. Her mother is nowhere to be seen, but sure enough that is Rose Weasley and suddenly everything makes sense. She is sitting up in bed. She looks pale and sleepy, but otherwise fine. She looks up and sees me and pales even further. It takes me everything not to laugh. I step into the room.

"Mr. Malfoy,"

"Rose Weasley, what are you doing here?"

She looks like she wants to ask me the same question, but would never dare to be so disrespectful.

"I'm sick."

"I figured as much, but what are you sick with?"

She glances at her bandaged hands and surreptitiously tries to smuggle them under the blanket. I look at her hands pointedly. She stops immediately.

"Ummm…Poison."

"Poison? Now how in Merlin's name did you manage to get poisoned? It wouldn't be because you were sneaking about in my house and got into places you weren't supposed to be in, no?"

"Umm…" She has this look of 'tell' on her face and her cheeks slightly colour.

"You know, I thought that if I told Scorpius not to go into that room that he'd simply stay out. He's never completely disobeyed me. He's taking things too far. I'll have to have a chat with him."

"It was my fault, sir! I wanted to know what was in the room." Classic Gryffindor. Her droopy, sleep-heavy eyes open half-mast wide with her outburst.

"Really?"

"Yes, and he told me that it's forbidden, but I pressured him because when he told me that I couldn't go there, I wanted it more than ever."

"Uh huh. And why is that? That's the kind of behaviour that Scorpius exhibits and that's because he's spoilt or so says a friend of mine. The moment he can't have something he automatically thinks that the universe has wronged him and it should be his given right to have it come hell or high water. I admit that I lapsed there and spoilt him. However, I never thought that Granger would have spoilt her children."

"I'm not spoilt. Mum always taught me to have goals and that nothing is unachievable or unattainable." She punctuates that with a yawn. I want to see her achieve alertness.

"Ah! So if you can't have something, you don't see it as another one of life's inevitable hurdles, but as a challenge."

"Hurdles are meant to be crossed, sir."

"Indeed."

She looks like it's on the tip of her tongue to ask me what I'm doing here. She keeps looking past me to the door, probably expecting to see her parents or maybe even Scorpius.

"Scorpius is not with me."

This time her face turns a deeper shade of red and her reaction gives me some insight into her thoughts on him. I think the poor child fancies my son. How unfortunate for her that he just happens to have the personality of a Bobotuber these days. Weasley would have a fit if he knew. I have to clear my throat loudly to stifle a laugh.

"You get along alright with Scorpius?"

"He's alright, sir; decent enough. He's not as daft as he might look. I suppose we have that much in common. He's really quite tough and doesn't have much to say these days, but he listens."

"He listens to you? He trusts you?"

"I suppose…" Even with her brain demanding sleep she answers a bit suspicious of where I'm going with this. I remember that she's the smartest witch of her age. If this was Potter's son I could spell out my motives on a fluorescent green placard and he'd still ask me what the point of it was, and he'd be fully awake. I decide to switch tact.

"So, now your Christmas holiday has been ruined with this injury?"

"It's not as bad as it looks as the snake only sprayed me, not bit me. The Healer says that the worst is over. My hands only itch and are a bit aching, but they're not as bad as they were last night. I still have that sweet taste in my mouth, though, but the disorientation and hallucinations are gone. I can remember things more clearly now. The Healer said it usually takes a while to go away, but I should be alright by the time my birthday comes around."

"And when's your birthday?"

"New year's eve. You can come if you like. We usually have a fireworks display and a party. It's very, very fun."

"Hmm, I don't think I'd be welcome. I can get along fairly alright with your mother, but your father and your uncle and I don't exactly get along that well." Actually, I don't get along that well with anybody right now, but who knows what I'll do under the influence of alcohol. I really can't stand Weasley. He's such a waste of skin. And Potter… don't get me started on him!

"Well, Dad is usually quite busy these days. He's hardly ever home anymore, so I doubt that you'd run into him." She mutters.

Now, I'm not so completely stupid or emotionally incompetent that I can't see when a child drops a hint that something may not be alright at home, and as a responsible adult I should ask whether everything is alright at home and that would inevitably lead to some heart-to-heart discussion on how her father works too much blah blah blah teenage angst. At another time I might have listened to her, but right now I have my own teenage angst problem to worry about, so I take up her lead and run with it.

"Hmm, sometimes parents don't always know how the choices they make affect their children." Before she can comment I launch into my story.

"Scorpius' mother, Mrs. Malfoy, wanted to become a Healer in America. Across the pond is reputed to have the best medical services in the world, surpassing even England's. I don't remember much of her in school, but I suppose she had to be relatively smart if that was the route she decided to set on. She wrote the examination and when she came home her parents asked her how she thought it went. Honestly, she thought it went well and she would know. I always say that you must know if you flunked an examination or not. You must know if you gave them what they were looking for." Rose nods in agreement. I bet that she never had a moment to doubt herself unlike how Crabbe or Goyle did in my days where they hoped to baffle the examiners with their bullshit instead of their brilliance.

"Anyway, everyone was very happy for her. Time passed and she made preparations to enter into training. She would have been moving to America. Everyone was most supportive, though her father kept telling her to curb her enthusiasm. Her mother berated her father for being too negative. I suppose her mother was in full support because she never realized any dream outside of the home. She was a rich, traditional, pureblooded witch and therefore had grown up with the idea that a witch's place was beside her husband's in the home and to be fair that's the route that her eldest daughter, my sister-in-law, took. But that didn't mean that my mother-in-law never wanted more for her youngest daughter."

She looks up at me with surprise.

"Yes, there are families who still think like that. The wizarding world isn't exactly known for being the most trend-happy people. We are particularly outdated. We've only recently upgraded to quill after centuries of lugging around stone and chisel in our backpacks; so I've no doubt that feminism is still on the back burner, especially so in pureblood families."

She shrugs and smiles, eventually admitting that I am right.

"Three months passed and the results for the examinations finally came through. My wife's father intercepted the letter and forged his own reply stating that the school had rejected her. She was devastated. The bitter pain of regret was almost too much for her to handle. Her father comforted her as much as he could, but still she fell into a depression. He suggested that she take a break from England and they vacationed in Italy. That's where I met her. A year later we were married. A year later, when he was on his death bed (he was a Healer as well – did I forget to mention that – well, he was a Healer), he contracted a disease while attempting to heal a patient and as usual with people near death he felt remorseful and finally confessed. He said that Healing is a field that rarely appreciates your talents (and it'd be even worse for a witch), only demanding more at the sacrifice of spending time with the people that matters the most. He said that he knew she would want to surpass him and to do that would mean becoming worse than him."

"She must have been so angry with him. And I can't believe that he held her back from her dreams."

"Initially she was angry, but after a while she forgave him."

"What?"

"I encouraged her to go back, surely she would get in. I don't know how it happened, but after a while she began to support the same belief as her father. I believe she convinced herself out of some deference to him. But then I suppose not believing in that would mean admitting that her life with me was only second-best to her dreams which simply wasn't true. I like to believe that she was quite happy with me." _Though, recent events threaten to prove otherwise_. "Why do you think he did it?"

She blinks slowly; her eyes glazed like a donut and I wonder if I'm losing her. "I don't know, sir." She mumbles.

"We've thought about it a lot over the years after he confessed. Her father had died and so we had no other choice but to listen to her mother's reasoning and deduce our own. Her mother said that he had done it out of some misguided form of love and self-preservation. He wanted to keep the tradition that he knew, keep close the daughter that he loved. I don't know. People do strange and cruel things for the ones we love and care about.

"I suppose my wife was able to rationalize it because she knew that I did the same once. Those were the reasons behind me becoming a Death Eater – self-preservation. Oh don't look at me like that! I know that you know what I am, what I used to be."

Suddenly it's as if she can look at every which way except the direction of my arm. She stares me hard in the face. It borders on disrespect, but I know it's only because she doesn't want to be rude and stare outrightly at my arm. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she quickly glances at my arm, seeing only black sleeve before she looks back up, looking slightly relieved. I don't know what she expected to find. That I'd embroider the Mark onto my clothes so that it'd be easier to spot?

"Anyway, eventually my wife forgives her father." I know that I should end that line with _'And you should forgive your father too_, but I can't bring myself to say anything so obviously in Weasley's defence and also, my little story had practically nothing to do with her petty teenage angst problems and any addendums to my story would only serve to highlight that. I'm just going to have to trust that Rose lives up to her reputation and makes the mental connection herself. But more importantly, I hope that she is awake enough to remember what I'm saying and will tell Scorpius that story.

"Did they say when you would be released?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"Well, I'll try to bring Scorpius by later so that he can offer his condolences." _And while you still have my subliminal messages fresh in your mind_. "I hope you feel better soon. You should rest up."

I wave my wand and a bouquet of flowers appears at her bedside table. In slow, heavy movements she leans over to smell them, but as soon as she nears they burst into canaries. She laughs almost giddily.

"Thanks, Mr. Malfoy!"

I take my leave wondering how that could be possible. How is it possible that the spawn of Weasley and Granger could be a genuinely nice child?

I step out into the hall just in time to see Weasley and Granger chatting near the lift. He turns in my direction, heading over to Rose's room and I quickly turn around and study the nearby painting of a warlock doing some sort of medical work or the other. I look back and Granger is talking to a Mediwitch and Healer Prakash. I'm about to walk over to the lift when Weasley comes back out much too quickly from Rose's room (I suppose that she finally fell asleep) and I am forced to have a stilted conversation with this warlock.

"With your colouring and fair hair many might say that you're a Jinx, but I say you're an Albino."

"Bugger off!" I scowl at him.

I look back and I see Weasley taking his leave. The lift door closes on him and just then Healer Prakash spots me. He waves me over. I contemplate ignoring him, but Granger is looking at me directly; her expression suspicious and sour. I expect that she wants to have words. Blaise's words echo against my mind. Against my better judgement, I walk over to the pair. The Mediwitch has left.

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm sure you remember Mr. Malfoy." She nods. "He's responsible for your daughter receiving the antivenin in time, so you should be thanking him."

Granger looks like she has a lime wedged into her mouth and the Healer is genuinely confused that no thanks is forthcoming. "Umm…"

"We need to talk, Malfoy." She cuts him across.

"Indeed. Have you had breakfast?" She shakes her head. "Neither have I, so we should go eat. Rose is sleeping, but she's fine." Her eyes narrow to slits. "Please excuse us, Healer." I take her arm, but she shrugs me off violently. I roll my eyes and head to the lift and she reluctantly follows me in. I press the button for the Fifth floor – tea room.

We order our breakfast – she with tea and a muffin, me with tea and two croissants – and settle down to a seat near the window. The tearoom is mostly empty, only a tired-looking witch at the other side nibbling wearily on a sandwich and another witch looking like the coffee she's having might be life-saving; she looks that grateful for it.

The winter sun has appeared to paint the landscape in pale and wet pastel colours. Granger slowly rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck and I can see the fine, light hairs on her neck that catch the light like a haze, like a veil. I feel a yearning that I am certain has nothing to do with Granger herself, but more with the ambience and mood of the day. It reminds me of something, some time when I was happier and in love. Who is to say what sight or scent will trigger the thought of a loved one or a memorable time? Association is a powerful mechanism of the mind and heart. Just the image of her neck and the feeling it inspires lighten my mood.

"Before you accuse me of enabling the machinations of Satan or whatever evil underworld lord with whom you presume I associate, I have a question for you."

"Just one question you have? I have lots for you, so I'll let you go first." Her answer is cool, her lips pursed into a thin wrinkle of irritability.

"Did your daughter tell you how she got poisoned?"

"She said that she touched a suspicious-looking plant. Al says that a faery bit her. The doctor says that it's Tempatio Mellitus poisoning: the sweet temptation snake sprayed her. I'm inclined to believe the Healer."

"And you would be correct."

"What the hell are you doing with creatures like that? Those snakes are an endangered species! It's illegal to own one! I don't know why you try so hard to remind me of the criminal you once were."

"Are you finished?"

She hits me a glower cold enough to freeze oil.

"Look, do you know of MIA?"

"The kind of dirty-looking English rapper of Tamil descent?"

"What?"

"Never mind, I do." She answers, looking all the while like she's thinking up ways to murder me and not get caught. I hurry along. "The 'M' in MIA actually stands for Malfoy. MIA stands for Malfoy Industries Apothecary."

"Theodore Nott is the director –"

"Right, and I'm the owner."

She stares at me blankly, the glower having slid off her face in muted shock.

"My father-in-law was a Healer and he got infected with a disease while healing a patient. It eventually killed him, but in a quest to find him a cure I accidentally found the cure for something else – Spattergroit."

Her mouth droops open, her shock no longer hidden. "You?"

"I sold the rights to my wife and so, though on medical books it says that I discovered it, most records (especially business records) list her as the discoverer. It's listed under Greengrass, not Malfoy." She continues to stare at me with her mouth parted in a most unattractive fashion. "That led me to launch my business. However, this was close to my recent release from prison and I had just married Astoria. In other words, I was very much in the public's memory and needless to say, I was not triggering fond thoughts. I couldn't afford to be associated with the Malfoy name, not in this country anyway, so I started a new business and I put Theodore Nott as the head, while I took a more background role. This way I'm out of the public eye and I still keep what little reputation I have as a gentlewizard."

"That's…that's quite…thoughtful of you."

Does she mean starting the business or letting Nott be the Director? Or does she mean that with a tone of surprise, as in she never thought I could be so clever? I don't bother to question. I'll just assume that she's thinking the worst of me, like she always does.

"Initially it was a small business venture. The potions were brewed by me, in my house, but obviously the business grew. Out of habit, tradition, I don't know, certain key ingredients are still kept at my house and the venom of the sweet temptation snake is one of the key ingredients."

"You keep those creatures in your house? You must be dangerously stupid or insane!"

"They are in a magically sealed room and for over twelve years there has never been an incident until last night when your daughter decided to break and enter into it."

"Whose point are you arguing? You just admitted that a _twelve year-old_ could get into the room. It's not like she was breaking into Gringotts!"

"Which you have done before. I see now where she gets her criminal aspirations! You ought to be happy that I have the bloody snakes in the first place because you need their venom to make antivenin, you ungrateful wretch!"

"I'd be more grateful if you didn't have the snakes in the first place!"

"The snakes didn't come to her! They didn't re-grow their vestigial legs and crawled over to her to bite her. No, quite the opposite. She broke into my house and went looking for what she got!"

We reach a stalemate. She is quiet, but it is a quiet rage.

"You couldn't possibly be upset with me. I saved your daughter's life!"

"You shouldn't have to in the first place!"

"Pshh. You're more upset that it was me who saved her life, isn't it? If it was Potter or someone or the other you'd have forgiven them instantly. 'No-no, accidents happen –'"

"That's not true!" She hisses. "It's just that you made me doubt myself. I decided to give you a chance and then this happens. All of the sirens went off that this is something that has _you_ written all over it."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I am not the same person that I was when I was sixteen."

"And I know that. There is overwhelming evidence to support that," she gestures to our current meeting as proof, "but the mind is a terrible thing. Last night was not so bad, despite everything. We had a good conversation, but when Rose got sick, the first thing that came to mind was you and what happened with Katie Bell all those years ago. Yes, I know that it makes no sense; you have no reason for doing something like this, but association is a powerful mechanism of the mind and heart."

I look up at her strangely, but she's looking down into her cup, stirring her tea fastidiously. It's so strange that she would say something like that when I was just thinking it – association is a powerful mechanism of the mind and heart. I don't say anything. I'm struck dumb by the surrealism of it all, that for one brief moment in time Granger and I have unconsciously and uncommonly agreed on a philosophical matter.

The tearoom is quiet except for the soft clinking of her spoon against the teacup. She's staring out the window. Her face no longer can be used to illustrate a Blast-ended Skrewt. Instead, she looks lost in thought. The light catches softly on her, illuminating the edges of her hair like a halo. Halo? I look up and realize that because of poor design schematics, there's an overhead light directly above her. It's quite redundant design-wise as there is a window right next to us doing a perfectly good job of side-lighting her surprisingly striking profile, with the result that she looks like sunlight has broken forth from the clouds and is shining down her. She looks . . . stunning. There is no other word to describe her, though trust me when I say that I'm thinking of alternatives and I like them even less than the word 'stunning'. I feel unbelievably uncomfortable as if the temperature in the room suddenly rose to desert heat. I feel more uncomfortable because this time I have no biscuits with which to accuse her of poisoning me.

Something is wrong with me. There is no possible way that I could have sanely thought that Granger is looking beautiful. Great. I guess I now have to Obliviate myself. I can't have that memory of shame rattling around in my head for any competent Legilimens user to stumble across.

She drags me out of my deeply disturbing thoughts by her voice.

"I was so scared," She's still looking absently out the window. "She was writhing in pain on the ground. She was having spasms, her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and her hands were turning a horrid grey and black colour like they were on the verge of crumbling like cigarette ashes from the lighted end of a fag. Hugo was bawling. He didn't know what to do. Ron was not at home. He left to do something earlier at the Prophet and then he went to work, I suppose."

'I suppose?' I try not to say anything regarding that indication that there may be trouble in paradise.

"I skated into her bedroom. But do you know what I remember about that moment?" She turns to look at me. "In books they love to depict Harry, Ron and me as magnificent heroes, graceful in our elevated and epic acts of bravery. I did not have a becoming hero's walk. I was all flailing arms and legs. I even partly walked into the doorway and nearly dislocated my shoulder." She huffs out a laugh at her clumsiness that makes me smirk as well. I have to admit that I never quite thought of her as graceful, but I can imagine her looking like she's on the deck of a boat in a storm, pitching around uselessly in what would never be considered heroic.

"No, it's never a hero's grace or pace. I was tall and gangly and clumsy and slow, calling out to Astoria unintelligibly, splashing through the water to her. I skidded and fell to the side of the tub in an undignified heap. I was the one that found her."

I don't even realize what I said until I hear no response from her. I look up (I hadn't even noticed that I was the one now absently stirring my tea and staring into the brown depths as if the cup held the answers to my grief) and she's there looking at me with these great, big, brown, deliquescing puppy eyes; her lips positively wibbling in pity for me. My word she looks like that Dickens orphan Oliver!

"Malfoy," She even reaches out and touches my hand. This is unexpected. I snatch my hand away.

"Forget I said anything."

"You know, you can talk to me."

"I understand that concept. It's what we've been doing for the last five minutes, no?"

"I mean that you can talk to me about…about her, about Astoria."

"I have no interest in speaking to you about my wife."

She turns her attention back to her tea and neglected muffin and I too try to bite into one of the croissants, but I might as well have eaten sawdust – it was that dry. As I sit there contemplating how this pastry sucked up all the saliva in my mouth like a wad of cotton, Granger swoops in for a second attack.

"Last night, you said that there are certain rooms in your house you don't step foot into anymore. Is it because of what happened to her? Or is it because of the war?"

"Granger…"

"No Malfoy, you'd don't have to be defensive. I understand."

"No, you don't. People keep saying that they understand, but they really don't. _I_ understand that you must feel the need to say something, anything because saying nothing is insensitive, but let me tell you that whatever consoling and vapid words you can muster up, whatever purple prose you can twist together to weave into some sappy poem on grief would never be enough. No one understands and they never will because they never had a wife that for years only sat there and nodded absently as she stared off into space reliving her own personal horrors silently. I can't remember the last time I had a conversation with my wife. For years all I got were vacant nods and crushing self-doubt and guilt. My marriage was falling apart, crumbling like pyramids right before my eyes so that when I saw her lying in that tub; do you know what I felt? I felt inevitability. Everything was careening towards that end. And no one will ever understand that feeling where I knew it was coming, but still it hit me like a kick to the chest because it was like a giant sign that read 'YOU FAILED AND ALL OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT!' You don't understand at all and as much as we don't get along, I don't think I'd want to wish that feeling of guilt on you, or anyone really."

"I do understand, more than you think actually." It's mumbled so low that I almost don't hear her.

In that one sentence I realize that her seemingly sympathetic words are actually empathetic. Her marriage is falling apart and is heading in the same figurative direction as mine. We stare at each other with our necks and cheeks surprisingly not inflamed, but paler than usual. The shock of our confessions has left us breathless, speechless and drained with our hearts pounding and our concentration shot. The intimacy of what we just shared almost pales into comparison to who we shared with, and after the shock dissipates, shame creeps in and I can see the tiny red blotches gather angrily up her neck and cheeks. She moves to get up, but I reach across and do the most surprising thing. I reach across the table and grab her arm, imploring her to sit down with the look in my eyes alone. She sits back down, probably more out of confusion than anything else; completely not expecting the touch on the arm and the eye contact. I would admit that my actions may be mistaken for sympathy.

"Granger…"

"Forget I said anything."

"You don't have to be defensive, I understand." I mock her earlier statement and she rolls her eyes before she does something that resembles a sneer (she needs more practice) and says,

"Stop being a dick."

"Still waters run deep," I mumble but she hears me and understands my meaning."It's the shock that we can have such heavy feelings right under the surface and the fact that we ourselves don't even realize it."

Her anger melts away and sadness descends on her like a shroud. I know that feeling and she knows it too. Things are falling apart and she doesn't know how to keep it together. I definitely know that feeling.

She moves her hand to resume her half-hearted eating of the muffin and I am forced to pull away. I hadn't even realized that my hand was still on her arm. I vaguely realize that I had been making soothing circles. My word! The shame! Graciously, she pretends not to notice, but more than likely she really did not notice.

We sit there in awkward silence, unsure of what to say to each other and I wish that I hadn't stopped her. I should have let her go. I have nothing to say to her. Eventually I clear my throat. "I have to go. I have a meeting in Ireland. I probably missed my Portkey."

"Work?" She asks falsely casual.

"Something like it. Most of my time is divided between travelling round to all my shops, dealing with any problems requiring mediation with the various managers, liaising with the other divisions, and being the heavy hand when relations between the heads grew acrimonious or intractable. I travel, I talk, shout down Floo networks on the rare occasion that I might be in office. I write stiff letters and I submit memoranda, but I find it difficult, even embarrassing to say that I work. Nott really does most of the heavy lifting."

She smiles a little at that, shaking her head that I'm boasting about my lack of responsibilities.

"And let me guess, that's just the way you like it, isn't it?"

I smile broadly and briefly at her. "Quite," She gives me a funny look, even cocks her head to the side like an owl. "What?"

"I don't remember you ever smiling."

"What? I smile."

"No, you smirk, you sneer, you grimace, but you don't smile. I mean, you didn't show any teeth just now and it looked more like a disingenuous rictus that gives you the look of a serial killer, but it really softened up your features."

"And we're back." This time she breaks into a broad grin and it's my turn to look at her funnily.

"I was joking. You should smile more. You look better when you do."

"Granger gives me a compliment? Hmmph. I'm sure that in the next few minutes England will be swallowed by a massive earthquake after fire and brimstone hail forth from heaven."

She rolls her eyes, but her grin stays. "I said you looked better, not good. It really softens up your forehead and chin."

I don't say anything. I only lean over and I hear her breath hitch as I pull something from her hair. I conjured a dead rat and rest it right next to her muffin.

"What was that you saying, rat's nest?" She positively scowls at me for all of two seconds before she transfigures the rat into a ferret.

"A ferret is only a rat with ideas above its station." She says. I scowl at her and she bursts out laughing and I do too.

"You're an arse."

"You're a self-righteous know-it-all."

"And we're back to normal."

"And we're back." I get up to leave and she gets up too. "See you around, Granger."

"Wait, you didn't tell me what you think about what we talked about last night." It was the most roundabout sentence I've ever heard her utter and it is only then that I notice the tearoom is starting to fill up more. People are giving us some odd looks; well, more to her really as they wonder what on earth she would be doing associating herself with a former Death Eater.

"I'll give you my answer on New Year's Eve." She gives me a confused look. "Rose invited Scorpius and me for her birthday celebrations." With that I turn on my heel and disapparate, but not before I hear her mutter that she's going to kill her daughter. I laugh as I spin away and the last image I see is of her shaking her head and laughing too.

* * *

**A/N**: Oh Draco, did you really just lie to a little girl in the off chance that it might help you with your son? I wouldn't put it past you. BTW, thank you to all those that reviewed and alerted and favourited. I forgot to respond to the reviews I got last time, so...THANK YOU! I appreciate your comments!


	8. Chapter Five: Hermione

**Chapter Five: Hermione**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter

* * *

Believe it or not I am actually hoping that Malfoy shows up tonight. I want to explain to him that Ron is not a bad husband or a bad father either. I could write him a letter, but that would only make me sound desperate and any semblance of plausibility I would lose. No, I want to bring it up casually in conversation, so it'll seem like another confession, though this time I won't be damning my husband in front of Malfoy. Despite the fact that Malfoy has shown a marginal inclination to be civil towards me, I can see just by his expression that his attitude towards Ron has not altered one bit. His tolerance for Ron is even lower than his tolerance for me, so if he shows up tonight I want to cut him off in case he and Ron get into it (inevitable) and Malfoy flings my treason in Ron's face. Ron and I may have our problems, but bad-talking my marriage to Ron feels to me like the height of disloyalty because truth be told, there is nothing wrong with my marriage.

Ron and I row about stupid and silly things. Whose turn it is to de-gnome the garden. Why he didn't rinse out the basin after he shaved. Why I didn't know how irritating it was when I cleaned up around him. When he'd interrupt me in the middle of a sentence. When I'd interrupt him. We'd argue about botched arrangements, unmade beds, careless words, trivial matters and other little pet peeves. We never fell out over the big things like war or fidelity or beliefs in God and religion or politics. We already know our position on the big things. The big things were the reasons behind us getting married. I always said that I knew the quality of the wizard that I married, and that's an excellent reason to get married. However, we won't be in a war every day. We aren't members of a clergy and there are no reasons to hash out the big questions like does God really exist and faith versus fate. No, instead we have ordinary lives where we row over the little things and I continually ask myself, what should matter? The big things? The small things? Both?

I suppose arguing about little things don't really matter. The truth is that there is nothing wrong with my marriage.

Sometimes however, a little thing can morph into a big thing and I don't want that. My little slip of the tongue can turn into a big thing if Malfoy says anything tonight.

I'm in the kitchen and Ginny, Luna, Vicky, Angie and my Mum are all in there with me. We hardly have room to change our minds as we shuffle around from the counter to the refrigerator to the sink to the stove. Circumstances are not improved when Molly arrives and decides to boss us all around like we're eight year olds. I had to keep giving my Mum the look to be patient when Molly told her, "No, no the berries are mixed in gradually, not all at one time, child." Child? My Mum is only eight years younger than Molly.

I wanted to be upset with the men but I knew that they were actually doing a more important job – keeping the children out of trouble and out of our hair by engaging them in some sort of outdoor sport that was a cross between Quidditch and de-gnoming. I look out the window and I could almost swear I see Hugo using a gnome as a Quaffle. But no son of mine would dare do such a thing and no husband of mine would allow our son to engage in such activities. Actually, I wouldn't put my head on a block for that last part. I move closer to the kitchen window when I hear a voice coming from the living room. Shoot. It's a Floo call.

"Hello! Hello! Ron? Hermione?"

I walk into the living room and I see Padma Patil's head glowing green in our fireplace.

"Oh. Hi, Padma."

"Hi, Hermione! Merry Christmas. Did you get the risotto recipe that I sent you?"

"Yeah, I did. Ron _insisted_ that I use it."

"And how did it come out?"

"It was great."

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear." She is oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm. She might as well be talking to someone else. For a brief moment I wonder if our Floo lines have crossed and she's actually talking to another witch with a husband named Ron, but instead that witch is actually happy to chat with her. "Is Ron there?"

"He's out with the children in the backyard. I'll go get him."

"No, no. That's okay. I just wanted to tell him that Lewis can't make it to the final League game in Spain tonight. I heard that his wife went into labour, so I'll need for Ron to do it."

"There's no one else to do it? Why can't you go?"

"Oh I am going, but I'll be covering a different piece. Can you give him the message for me, please? It's the final Spanish League game. It's pretty big and we need to cover this."

"Hmm."

"Okay. Let him Floo me as soon as he can, alright, so that I can set up his Portkey before I leave. Okay. Have a great holiday! Bye!"

"Uh huh."

The flames retract from their emerald glow and suddenly the room is in that pale yellow lighting again. I look at the light hanging above and as I do that I catch a glimpse at Ron's reflection in the television. I look back at the door and he's standing there. I wonder how much he heard. So much for my brief idea that maybe I should just 'forget' to give him the message.

"Was that Padma I just saw?"

"Yeah. She wants you to do the finals in Spain tonight. Lewis can't make it, she said."

His eyes go wide as he sees his future skyrocketing in front of him. "The Spanish League Quidditch finals? She wants me to go there?" He asks in breathless shock.

"It's too bad you can't go, though."

"Eh?"

"Because of Rose's birthday. Tradition, big cake, song at 11:58, fireworks, party, etc. Remember?"

He stares at me, his face falling and his eyes drooping in disappointment and I can barely believe him when he says,

"Oh you're right. Hey, I bet Rose would love it if we could go together! I'll take along Hugo too of course."

My mouth actually hangs open a bit at that. He can't be serious.

"I know, I know. The other kids would want to go too. It'll create a big thing about how come he gets to go and not me and yada yada. You're right."

"Right about what?" Harry asks as he comes in.

"Mate, you would never believe it. Padma wants yours truly to cover the Spanish League Finals tonight! Me!"

"What? That's great! Oh, but today's Rose's birthday."

"I know. I thought about bringing her and Hugo along, but that'll just create a big thing among the others. It's not like this was planned."

Harry nods sympathetically.

"I'll try to make it back in time though, for her to blow out her cake and hopefully I'll still get to see the fireworks. I can't let Padma down."

This is strange because to me the answer is clear. Ron simply cannot go.

"You can't let down Padma?" I repeat, hoping that he'll get my tone. "It's alright, I suppose, as long as you don't let down Padma."

"Eh, 'Mione? I'd bring the kids along, but I can't bring all of the children and if I don't carry all of them, you know the whining they'll carry on with."

"I just didn't think that what you'd be doing would be kid-friendly."

"A Quidditch match?" He asks dumbly, but I can see from the slight colouring on Harry's cheeks that he gets my meaning. I stare at Ron intensely, hoping to telepathically convey my meaning. Harry clears his throat and that alone seems to give Ron understanding. They always were closer.

"'Mione, you don't actually think that, do you?"

"Think what?" I ask that just to make sure that we're both on the same page, and also just to be a bitch.

"That, that there's something going on between me and Padma."

I don't really have an answer to that. It's a thought that comes and goes, briefly crossing my mind, more like sometimes taking a leisurely stroll, other times galloping quickly across my mind in brief and hurried speeds. But to be faced with a direct question…The truth is I don't think anything is actually going on between Ron and Padma, but I know that something is going on between Ron and me. I just feel like it's something to fling at him for his careless, careless mind.

A sudden feeling of intense fatigue grips me and I feel the need to lie down, but I know if Molly catches me doing that at this time I might as well be better off dead.

"Forget about it." I mumble and hurry past him. He grabs my wrist and I pull away. "We'll talk about it when you get back. Just get back before midnight, okay. For Rose, alright?"

I walk away before he gets his chance to give me the puppy face and the whiny 'Mione tone. I cross the hallway to the kitchen only to realize that I left the mixing bowl atop the mantel. It says something of my mental state that I didn't just Accio it, but instead walk back for it. Somehow, when mentally stressed I always fall back to the Muggle way. It must be some sort of coping mechanism. I stop just before the door to the living room when I hear Ron saying,

"What? Are you mental, mate?"

"I just needed to ask. Padma is a good-looking witch; a good-looking and single witch."

"I'm not denying that, but that's just not something that I'd do. I could never do that to Hermione."

"Good. Now you need to tell her that."

"I can't talk to her right now. You know how she gets. She needs time to cool off, take out her anger on something. I'll never forget the canaries." They chuckle easily about that memory and I too find myself smiling.

"Served you right, though. Look, I had to ask. As the Head of the Auror Department I'm turning a blind eye to all the time-off you take for this second job that you're not supposed to have in the first place. As your and Hermione's best mate, I needed to ask what's really going on."

"Mate!"

"No, I'm serious. You spend a lot of time at the office with Padma. You write a weekly column and as far as I'm concerned couldn't that be done anywhere? All you need are quill and parchment."

"I'm not the world's best writer. I'm a good storyteller. I told you that Padma helps me hammer out the details. We work in the office because it's easier than having to go back and forth. Besides, I'd hardly be having a secret affair at The Prophet. I might as well shag someone in the middle of Diagon Alley."

"Point made. But it's not just that. You and Padma seem awfully close now. You've started to look into her Indian culture a bit more. To me the biggest warning sign was when you said that you wanted to fast from alcohol and meat for a little while. I thought that you'd been Imperioed! You've got Hermione making two dinners every night and you're only eating one of them!"

"Oh come off it. It's a cleansing of the mind. Padma said that when she's searching for clarity, it just makes more sense to stop with the alcohol. It just makes things a bit clearer; you can focus better."

"Focus better on what? Is everything alright with you, with you and Hermione?"

There's a pause and I want to look in, but I know that that wouldn't be a good idea. It's bad enough that I'm sneaking around two Aurors (though, I am getting away with it, so I don't know what that says about my abilities in stealth and theirs in detection.) He barely croaks out, shamed and defeated:

"No, mate. Things have been…not the same for a while now, not since her last miscarriage, well…" And this last part is barely above a whisper, "…maybe even long before that."

He recovers his bluster to say that it's only because he's been so busy lately with all the various Quidditch Leagues coming to finals. But I can tell by the silence that Harry knows the score. And to his credit, he tells Ron that he should better get cracking on this Final, so that things can get back in order.

"Say, you wanna come to Spain with me tonight?"

"What?"

"Well I doubt Hermione'll think we're having a threesome."

Harry bursts out laughing and I can hear them coming, so I run into the study next door and dive onto the couch, hoping that they don't see me and my latent action-movie skills. I hear them pass by because I forgot to close the study doors, but they fail to notice me. Well, I suspect that Harry sees me since he closes the study door with a flick of his wand as he passes by.

I get up and walk over to the windows and stare out at the lake. It's nearing half-six and the sky has already darkened to black. A ghostly fog is curling up on the lake's surface. The distant pine trees and everything in between are coated with a fine, light snow. The entire place looks like a scene out of some dolorous independent movie, mimicking my melancholy spirit.

It seems that husband and wife are in orbit between two different stars; an empty expanse of space between them. Ron has recognized it. Now if I could have scrounged up that much self-awareness maybe some six months ago, things would have been a lot different, now wouldn't it? But I suppose I did know. I told Malfoy as much.

I remember some of the things he mentioned about his wife. Something happened to her, to their marriage and he blames himself. What did he do? How did he hurt her? Does he mean physical hurt or emotional hurt like the way that Ron and I are hurting each other now? What did he do?

A feeling of dread sets in as my mind runs on Malfoy. Is this how he felt when he realized that things were falling apart?

Xxx

Dinner is great. We are all stuffed and say we could never eat again. But when my father comes out with Rose's cake we all drink some water to shuffle things around and make more room for cake. I tell the story of Rose's birth just like I have for the last thirteen years. Only this time, it's Harry who has to take up Ron's part of how he was trying to shove her back inside me for just two more minutes so that she'd have fireworks for being born at midnight on New Years Day. But she arrived early at 11:58.

It's 11:58 now. We sing Happy Birthday for Rose. She looks around for her father. I tell her that he's on his way. Molly still travels with that stupid clock and the clock sells me out. Ron is still in Spain. Rose mopes. Hugo stuffs her face with cake in an attempt to get her to cheer up. It does not work. It only starts a huge food fight as we sing Auld Lang Syne at 11:59. Midnight reaches. Still no Ron. Fireworks light up the sky. Everybody hugs and kisses. The doorbell rings and I move to answer it more as a way to get away from the children's food fight and all the adult couples snogging their significant others. At the door are Scorpius and Malfoy.

"Happy New Year, Mrs. Weasley!"

"Happy New Year, my dear!" We hug each other around the two huge presents he's carrying.

"I'm sorry I missed Rose's birthday." He looks at his father with a scowl. Malfoy shrugs. His eyes look slightly hooded and I suspect that he's had a couple of drinks. "I'm still being punished after what happened and part of my punishment is no fun is to be allowed. I can't even step foot on a Qudditch pitch and don't get me started on what happens when I try to mount a broom."

I nearly laugh out loud at that. It's good to know though, that Malfoy isn't being lackadaisical about Scorpius' disobedience and the consequences.

"Go ahead, sweetie. Rose is inside the dining room. They're having a food fight." He races past me before his Father can ban him from that and I look back just in time to see him get hit with a face full of white icing. "Froggy! You are so lucky it's your birthday!"

I turn back to Malfoy. He has a slight, quarter-inch of a smile on his face. He's standing on the threshold like the vampire he looks like, probably terrified that he'd turn to dust if he steps in without an invitation. "Do you want to come in?"

"Look at me. Do I look like I want to get my clothes smelly with cake?" I look at him and he does look impeccable. His black robes hang open so that I can see he's wearing black slacks, a black cable crew sweater over his grey shirt and black leather gloves.

"Why do you always dress in black? You look like a Mediterranean widow."

"Do I really? Come off it. You know I look good. Just say it." He looks fantastic and he knows that he looks fantastic. Smug, vain bastard. But I'd never let him have that satisfaction. "Just say it."

"You are an idiot."

"What? I'd readily admit that you look good, which you do…because that piece of cake in your hair is pulling the focus away from your face."

He laughs out loud at the look on my face and I want to punch him…again. I reach up to take out the cake from my hair, but he takes out a handkerchief (I can't even remember the last time I saw someone with that and we live in the anachronistic Wizarding world that doesn't know what a telephone is), wets it with a bit of water from his wand and wipes the cake off my curls.

This is unexpected. I am in shock. If I didn't know any better I'd say that he's being caring. Luckily, I know better.

Clearly, he is drunk. Okay, maybe not drunk, but he's definitely not 100% sober.

He vanishes the handkerchief (probably back to 1923 when it was last seen) and stands back to face me like he didn't just set in motion the destruction of the universe by this one act of altruism. He gives me a strange look like he wants to say something, but dismisses it.

"I take it your daughter is feeling much better?"

"Physically, she's fine."

"Physically?"

I nod. I'm unsure of how to bring up Ron. Luckily, he does it for me.

"Where's Weasley?"

"He's gone to a game in Spain. He's covering the Spanish League finals."

"I see."

We both don't know what to say to that. He clears his throat and I shiver as I pull my cardigan closer and wrap my arms around me. "Are you sure that you don't want to come inside? Inside wins by virtue of being warmer."

"Yes, but it loses because it's infested with Weasleys and Potters. At least outside is beautiful." He gesticulates in a wide manner that encompasses the whole town, but also seems to include me. I'm not sure, but I think he even gives me a pointed look.

Something is wrong. Is it possible to get brain freeze from simply standing in the cold too long? That can be the only explanation because the alternative is that Malfoy may have just subtly flirted with me and _that's_ not possible. I'm going back to my original hypothesis that he's a bit tipsy.

He casts an eye about the gallery and spots the swing.

"What is that?"

I look at him for confirmation that he's joking. I can kind of tell by now. His drawl sounds flatter, slower when he's joking. "It's…it's a swing set. Haven't you ever seen one?"

"No. You Muggleborns always come up with the battiest ideas. What does it do?" He asks as he walks over and sits on the wooden bench. It sways and he grips the sides dramatically like he's on a ship that's about to overturn.

"You sit on it and you swing."

"Oh my Granger, I had no idea that you were into that kinky stuff." He grins lecherously at me and I roll my eyes. "You know, one of these days your face will stick like that."

"Right, because I'm four years old, no?"

He ignores me in favour of swinging merrily, lost in the motion of centrifugal physics and the novelty of a new toy.

"It's a bit hard on the tush, though."

"I took the pillows off when winter set in."

"Well, bring it back. It's bloody freezing!"

"We can go inside!"

"But there're Weasleys inside and the swing is out here!" He looks at me with an expression that clearly says, 'duh!'

How? No, why? How and why is it possible for him to be this annoying? It boggles my mind.

With a wave of my wand I return the cushions to the swing and this time I add a thick, heavy, faux-fur trimmed comforter to it. He nearly suffocates under all that bedding and misses the gleeful smirk that stretches my face. "Granger!" He muffles out and I rearrange my features to look less sadistic and run (saunter, more like it) to his aid.

"Are you trying to suffocate me?"

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" I say sarcastically. He emerges from the bedding, face flushed (as much as it could get in this cold and with his natural pallor) and hair in a mess. He lifts the comforter in one fell swoop and nearly knocks me over with it. The comforter rises in the air, ballooning over us like a thick, fur-lined navy blue cloud and he pulls me by the arm to sit on the bench with him. I lose my balance and end up sitting much closer than I'd like. I'm practically melded to his side when the comforter falls on us, slowly and softly like the snow that drifted from the sky earlier.

"Comfy?"

"I would be better with a drink."

I sigh and Accio a bottle of champagne (what the heck, it's new year's – still I brought out the cheapest bottle I had just for him) and two glasses, together with my coat. He shoots his left arm out for a glass that's floating in the air and the bottle automatically pours his drink. Meanwhile, I'm like a square peg in a round hole trying to get my left arm out from the comforter and trying to fit my right arm into the sleeve of my coat.

"My word, you're worse than children." He mutters and rests aside his glass in the air to help me with my coat. He roughly shoves down the comforter, takes up my left arm and stuffs it into the coat like he's packing a sack and he does the same to my other arm, only more roughly. He pulls my collar up over my neck like it's the most harassing job he's had to do.

"Brightest witch of our age, my foot. You can't even put on your coat. A blind baboon can do that…" he mutters all the while reaching for his drink and handing me mine. I decide that Azkaban is not for me and I will not kill Malfoy…at least not tonight.

"Happy New Year," He turns to me and says with his glass raised. I turn to him but I can see in his eyes that he really wants that. He is sincerely hoping to have a happy new year.

"Happy New Year, Malfoy. I wish you health, happiness and serenity."

He offers me a watery smile and we clink our glasses over the lingering fireworks in the sky. I can hear music starting up in the house. There are still a few fireworks, sputtering red and green, lighting up the sky and our faces periodically. I feel surprisingly relaxed, an outrageous thought given that I'm in the company of Malfoy, but I suspect it has more to do with the alcohol and the swaying sensation. I put my feet up and snuggle under the covers more, not really paying attention to the fact that the heat I'm feeling is not just from the champagne warming my bones, but it's also emanating from his body. I try not to notice that I've plastered myself onto him and more importantly he isn't pushing me away. I could only assume that his right side has gone numb in the cold. I'm feeling too comfortable to move away though, so I'll pretend that I can't feel him either.

"Have you made any New Year's resolutions?"

"I don't believe in that." He says and the fatalism in his tone is icy. I shiver a bit and I feel his body stiffen. Still he doesn't move away. Instead, he surreptitiously performs a warming charm around us. I feel cocooned in warmth. The fireworks have finally died down and all we're left with is the distant ado of the people inside my house, music and the pinpoint lights of the town down below. Darkness envelops us like a black velvet cloth. The moonlight weakly reflects off our glasses, his hair, our wedding bands. We sway idly, relaxed.

"You don't have anything that you want to change this year?"

"Well, aren't you going to appeal for my Father to not get the Kiss? You're taking care of that, so…"

"I saw him in some memories. He really has changed. He's reading Muggle books."

"He doesn't have anything else except time and his thoughts. That kind of loneliness can really affect you."

I don't say anything, though his words give me a bit of insight into what he's been feeling for the last few months, maybe even years. I perform a slight experiment. I yawn and shiver a bit; subtly shifting my body away from him and he, seemingly unconsciously moves closer to me. I shiver some more and this time shift into him and he still moves into me a bit more. It's very subtle, but I notice it.

He's craving that human touch.

"He reads a lot now. Azkaban is soul-destroying, but he's also quite the survivalist. He adapted. He began to read and one day he tentatively picked up a Muggle book. I can't remember which one he said was his first, but he found it interesting, clarifying, illuminating. It took months before he told Mother and me what he'd been reading, but we could see the change in him. When he first told us what he'd been doing, I swear my Mother's throat got a little hitched up. She thought he had become a victim of his own imagination. It happens to so many inmates there. They all go a little crazy and to be honest, I too think that he's just a bit touched in the head, but he hasn't full on moved on to become Ludicrous Lucius."

We both snigger a bit at the title and I think it has more to do with the champagne than it actually being funny because in reality what he's speaking about is far from funny, but downright morbid.

"Eventually we realized that this wasn't some elaborate mental or physical escape plan. Mother had tasked me with finding out whether he was being genuine or not and that's how Father and I became closer over the years. We began to bond over books, first normal Wizard literature, and then he began to feed me Muggle books. He became a professor almost, a literary mind. He was outrageously inspirational. He'd probably talk to you now. You two have that reading thing in common, you know."

"Don't forget our mutual dislike for Voldemort."

He winces a bit at the name and takes a huge sip of his drink. Still a touchy subject, I see.

"So, does this mean that you agree to let me try to win over the Wizengamot in granting an appeal?"

He doesn't answer for a while. He switches his glass to his right hand then rests his hand behind me on the back of the swing (I have to duck so that he won't accidentally brain me). He leans a bit to his left, propping his sorrows with his left hand, his index and middle fingers making deep, wrinkled indentations in his forehead, his lips slightly pursed. He looks like I asked him a particularly troubling Arithmancy question. When he does finally speak, it's slow and his tone is soft.

"When I was in school and they would talk about me, I didn't mind then. Let them talk about me, I was a hot topic. Some swooned, others envied me, the weak ones cowered in fear and others were disgusted by me. I don't have to remind you which group you belonged to. Clearly, you were a swooner."

I nearly snort half my drink up my nose when a mosquito nearly flies into my mouth. His drawl is slow and flat, so I know he's joking but that mosquito could not have had worse timing. He gives me a sly look after he mistakes my reaction. "Is there some truth in that statement?"

"Me punching you in the face was not an aggressive and yet passive confession of love. You could take that at face value (pun intended). It was a punch in the face because you were being a prat."

"Uh huh," He smiles cheekily at me. "I couldn't admit it then, but in retrospect – now brace yourself Granger, I'm about to give you a compliment – you were quite the looker and still are."

Malfoy is drunk. Clearly.

He continues unaware that this situation has made me confused and has Satan smiling.

"But that was something that I craved, the attention, that is. Let them talk about me. In that world I always seemed to know what to do, and it only seemed to be the things I wanted to do, and would have done whatever came. After the war, on the other hand, after I was released, I felt constantly uncertain, far from the easy formalities of the society that I grew up in. Everything had changed. Everything that mattered to me had changed. All I really had was my name and my name became the single most damning thing I owned.

"The rumours were vicious and back-biting and there was nothing that I could do to stop people from talking. Once one person said something it was impossible for me to get those words back and shove them back into their mouths. It was impossible for people to un-hear things. Do you know how many hours I devoted to trying to figure out a way to Obliviate the public at large? Denial was treated as protesting too much and silence was speaking volumes of only the lies they wanted to believe. That's why I removed myself from the Wizarding public. That's why I sold my rights to Astoria. It's the reason that I paid Scorpius' tutor so much to keep his mouth shut about my past. It's the reason that I told my house elves to burn anything that can be connected to my past (the little fuckers are too literal and I came just in time to stop them from burning the house down). I could deal with the financial sanctions. I even handled prison fairly well. But call me weak and full of pride, but I cannot stand their wicked tongues.

"It took me years, but for the most part people have forgotten about me. I know, I know. I'm a pathetic Slytherin; I've aspired to obscurity. But I'll take that any day. And just when I thought that maybe, just maybe people have forgotten what I did, what I used to be. . .The things that they did. . . And still they say– Do you know what they say? They say that she killed herself because she was desperate to get away from me!"

He's practically raving now. I vanish the glasses and the bottle, but he doesn't seem to notice. He pulls his right hand to him and again I have to duck before he accidentally clouts me at the back of the head. He covers his face with his hands and takes a deep breath like he's trying to pull himself together.

"Malfoy? . . . Draco?" His name feels odd and foreign in my mouth; my tongue seeking out this intruding word the way it would when you go to the dentist and he sticks a piece of cotton in your mouth. "Draco?"

He stiffens a bit, but then he removes his hands and he turns to me. His eyes seem slightly red even in this light. "I'm so sorry about that, Granger. Pansy had a get-together earlier (she has it every year) and I probably had too much to drink. I wasn't in the mood to be around people, but she insisted that I attend. I had to drink just to get through it. The champagne I had just now probably wasn't a good idea. Do you have any club soda?"

I stare at him. He amazes me. This is how he has been able to get through everything. It's the reason he's still staying in that damn awful house. It's the reason he can work and the reason he can snark at me. It's the reason that he's having so much trouble with Scorpius. It's not the alcohol as he claims.

In that one little moment I realize that Malfoy compartmentalizes his feelings because he can't bear to talk about it. But he can't do it for much longer.

"Well? Do you have any club soda?"

"Um, yes, no. Sorry. Yes, I have club soda." With my wand I conjure another glass and Accio the club soda to us. I open it and pour it for him. He takes a few sips, leans back and rests his head on the back of the swing and closes his eyes. Eventually with his eyes still closed, he says,

"Granger, what I was trying to say is that when you begin to campaign the appeal for my father it will create something of a media frenzy because of who you are and because of who he is. When I do it, it's nothing to be remembered. Most people have forgotten about me; the media only reminding them ever so often when something 'interesting' happens to me. But when you go after that appeal, everything is going to be dragged up from the depths of my past and your past as well. You know how the media works. What I'm saying is that I've thought about it a lot and I'm ready. I'm ready for whatever they bring up, but you have to help me with Scorpius. There are still some things he doesn't know about me and I need you to help smooth things over with him. I've lost my wife. I can't afford to lose my son as well, alright?" He opens his eyes and stares at me.

It's strange the feeling that comes over me at this moment. I have the sudden need to tell someone, especially him, that all is not well with me either. I have this _need _to tell him, to share this personal information with him, to let him know that he's not the only person who is suffering silently. The vertigo of this moment nearly levels me.

"Malfoy, are you alright?"

He gives me a raised eyebrow, but I persevere under his suspicious scrutiny. I take a deep breath and start slowly.

"Judging from some of the things you've said, I've realized that your marriage fell apart and you think that you're to blame." He narrows his eyes at me and his signature scowl is set in place to let me know that this is a topic that I have no authority to broach. Still I press on. "I think . . . I think that my marriage is heading in the same direction. I can't afford to lose Ron. You are the only person that I know whose marriage didn't work out that well. You're the only person I know who would truly understand. I don't want to end up like you."

My voice sounds scratchy and I look up at the canopy over the swing in an effort not to let the tears fall in front of Malfoy. I know what I just said was insulting, hurtful and vulnerable to all parties involved. I look back at him and he's staring at me with a rather bovine expression on his face. He's studying me, I can tell. He's weighing his options. Eventually, he gives me an almost smile and says,

"Well, you're already doing better than me in some respects. You've admitted that there is a problem, though you need to admit that to him and not to me."

And I can't help it at that moment, the tears fall freely down my cheeks. I turn my head from him, ashamed that this has happened in front of him.

I feel a hand on my back and I nearly jump. It's Malfoy and he's attempting to be comforting. His hand feels like an anvil because he's simply resting it there on my back, unsure as to what his next move in being a comforting confidante should be. I turn to look at him and his eyebrows nearly hit his slightly receding hairline.

"What?" I hate the way my voice sounds under the strain of trying not to let a sob sneak out.

"I must be really drunk. You look..really…pretty."

"What?"

I am dumbfounded. I feel like I just found a Snorcack under my bed. This is…incomprehensible. I'm sorry, but it's the only adjective I can come up with. His comment is at the head of the list of Things Malfoy Says That I'll Never Believe.

Suddenly I hear Ron's voice from inside, partly drowned out by the music. His Portkey must have landed in the backyard. I instantly get up and the comforter falls off me and tumbles to the ground. In my haste I trip and Malfoy tries to catch me (shocking, I know, but tonight he's full of surprises). The comforter is still partly wrapped around him and together with his blood alcohol level…he's not exactly a column of stability. He falls atop me and we end up on the ground in a haze of downy fabric and spilt club soda.

"'Mione! I'm home! Where are you?"

Malfoy and I look at each other, our eyes opened wide. I scramble to get up. He's laughing at the absurdity of the situation. I can hear Ron's footsteps nearing. I manage to get up first. Malfoy's so tipsy right now he couldn't find his way out of a paper bag.

Ron enters the scene and is looking at me rightfully wondering what on earth I could be doing here in the gallery with Malfoy lying on the ground, wrapped up in a comforter and laughing his head off.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?"

Malfoy gets up, holding onto me for support. He's wearing a sly smirk on his face. "Me? I was just…swinging with your wife."

He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

Ron's standing there looking like the knuckle-dragger Malfoy always says he is, with his mouth hanging open and this stupid, confused expression on his face. I get so mad at the both of them! I shrug Malfoy off of me.

"Scorpius will be sleeping over. That's okay, right? Just remember, he's not to have any fun, so let him read your _House Elves Liberation Act (2015)_. That'll teach him. I'll pick him up in the morning."

I'm tight-lipped. I'm so mad at him I'm afraid that I might say something nasty and he might respond by hitting me where it'll hurt the most: on my personal act of domestic treason when I confessed that things haven't been going swimmingly with Ron.

He staggers down the gallery and walks the fifty yards to the apparating point. He looks back at me before he spins and in that one moment I realize that he wasn't as drunk as he claimed to be. I saw it in his face then; the clarity in his eyes, the shrewdness in his expression. But if that's the case, this whole night with him...Did he really mean the things he said?

I stand still, suddenly remembering that earlier tonight he said a lot of strange things, but the strangest was that he said 'Muggleborns' and not 'Mudbloods'. Has he really changed?

A yearning passes over me, the kind I get when I come across something fascinating and there isn't enough information on it, so I have to do research myself. I get that sudden need to know, but it's the shock of getting that feeling because of Malfoy that has my heart beating faster in discomfort.

I turn to Ron. He's shaking his head and muttering about how Malfoy is the mutt's nuts. He notices quickly, however, that my expression has darkened. It's nearly quarter to one o'clock when I do a Tempus charm. "Look, sorry I was late, babe. But I –"

"I'm not mad."

"But I –"

Who knows what he said next because I walk past him and head into the house, slamming the door shut on him to his own house. I know, I know. I ignored Malfoy's first advice – admitting that there's a problem.

* * *

**A/N**: You guys don't like this story too much, do you? Or do you? I really have no idea because you hardly review… *sigh* What are your thoughts on this chapter folks?


	9. Chapter Six: Malfoy

**Chapter Six: Malfoy **

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Malfoy's quite the chatterbox in this fic, isn't he?

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About two months have passed since I last saw Granger on that New Year's morning. Later, when I got up with a hangover that felt like an elf had moved into my head and was kicking its way out, I also woke up with startling remembrance of the things I'd said the night before and with all the shame that hindsight could fling at you. Needless to say, I've been ducking Granger since. I sent a house elf to pick up Scorpius from her house and when he was due to return to Hogwarts, I purposely did not follow him to Platform 9¾ for fear that I may run into her.

Two weeks after that I received a letter from her telling me that she had brought up her bill's First Reading in the Wizengamot. No need to tell me that; it was all over the papers. She also told me in that letter that my father's file had landed on her desk and that she was to review it for the upcoming appeal. Would I like to meet to discuss anything? Nope.

She sent me another letter when her bill's Second Reading came about. Would I like to meet to discuss? Nuh uh.

She sent me a third letter wondering whether I was avoiding her. Unlike before when I had given her definite, monosyllabic answers, pride stepped in and I refused to give her the satisfaction of being right. You know how someone might ask you a question about one thing, but you don't want to answer it, so instead you go off on a tangent about that time your Uncle Dennis came home for Christmas and felt up your brother because your brother's hair was long and he looked like a girl as he was rebelling and it led to a huge fight where your Uncle had to sober up or ship out and your brother cut his hair and then came out to the family where he introduced his best friend, Sean, as his long-term partner? Yeah, it was like that, in letter form. Instead of simply telling Granger 'no, I'm not avoiding you; I'm just a bit busy at the moment', my response instead devolved into a story about Daphne's hair colour needing to go back to blonde and the challenges I faced trying to match the exact colour because apparently a key ingredient was to be bought from a hag who wanted to go on a date with me and wanted to be Scorpius' babysitter and how the search for the right shade was leading to the possible disintegration of my friendship with Blaise…Yeah, it was a disaster. Granger responded to me quite appropriately:

Dear Malfoy,

What the hell are you on about?!

Regards,

Hermione Weasley.

P.S. Why would Pansy want to date you again? Hasn't she heard that she shouldn't wash her hands in dirty water?

It made me burst out laughing (yes, I knew that I was laughing at myself and Pansy, but I couldn't be bothered to stop) and I had to sit down to curb the stitch that developed in my side. At least I had convinced Granger to never ask me another question again.

After that I hadn't heard anything from her, though she was quite prominent in the papers. The press reported that she and Potter had been rowing over her proposed bill. There were factions that wondered if this was all a political move for Minister for Magic. Is she trying to manipulate the public? Is she trying to manipulate Lucius Malfoy's appeal? Is she taking bribes from the Malfoy family? Has Hermione Weasley forgotten about the victims of the war? Is Hermione Granger a Neo-Death Eater supporter? As usual, the papers seemed to specialize in biased and sensationalistic reporting; real journalism a careless afterthought. And as usual, they looked for the worst picture of her that they could find. She always looked like she'd never even heard of a comb.

And of course, I got a visit from Potter and his sidekick. They showed up at the front gates and I took my cool, calm time before gracing them with my presence.

I was quietly led to the Auror Department where they put me in an interrogation room, took away my wand and oddly enough, my necktie. I don't know what they thought I was going to do, but if they thought that I could take out two trained Aurors with a necktie, who am I to argue with that reputation?

"Should I hire an attorney?"

"Do you need an attorney?" Potter asked.

"What's my charge?"

"We're just chatting." Weasley said, but he was not friendly. "When's the last time that you spoke to Hermione Weasley?"

I had nothing to say to them. They had yet to charge me and I was not given access to any lawyers. I only looked at the blank wall and sneered. I'm quite good at telling people to fuck off without having to use the words. I'd been doing it for years at Hogwarts and by the time I'd landed in Azkaban, one look said it all. That's all that Potter and Weasley got from me that day – one big fuck off.

The interrogation went on for five hours. That's another thing that I learnt in Azkaban – patience (well, not really) but, five hours later I still hadn't said a word. After a while their shift was over and the overtime didn't make sense anymore.

They let me go and by the time I entered the lift, Potter was already in there waiting for me. How in Merlin's name did he do that?! I nearly bolted for the door, but the lift was already closed and moving to the lobby. I backed up to the side and he eyed me with a sort of detached, judgemental contempt.

"What the hell are you looking at, Potter?"

"If you hurt Hermione in any form or fashion, whether directly or indirectly," He shot me a pointed look and I scowled even deeper, "I want you to know that I will personally kill you. I'll claim self-defence. I'm the Head of the Auror Department and a member of the Wizengamot. I can get away with it."

The lift dinged and he stepped out ahead of me into the lobby. I weighed the options of hexing him right then and there, but in the end I decided that he wasn't worth it. I simply couldn't bring myself to give two shits about him.

Still, I stayed away from Granger.

Then, when I last expected it, I got a letter from her telling me that I shouldn't send Scorpius a Howler for the 'T' he got in his Transfiguration mock exams. I had no idea what she was on about. I sat down to write her just that when a Hogwarts owl dropped off a letter at that precise moment. It was from Scorpius' Transfiguration teacher expressing concern that he got a 'T' in his mock exam. For a brief moment I wondered if Granger was prescient. I always had the impression that she didn't put in too much stock in divination, but after I thought about it I realized that she must have heard it from Rose Weasley. I decided to follow Granger's advice and not send him a Howler like the last one he received from me for failing Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was still under punishment for his little stunt where he stole my snake and nearly got Rose killed (I still haven't gotten back that snake and he claims to not know where it is). Besides, I really regret Howlers now as it can be traced back to be the impetus for the fall of my relationship with my son. I had sent him a Howler nearing the end of his first semester for failing his Potions exam and I might as well have sent him a Dark Mark. Everything had gone downhill from there. I wrote her back thanking her for the advice.

We've been corresponding ever since talking about everything in general and nothing in specific.

Not once did we talk about my father.

Then, I got two more letters three weeks later when I was sitting with Blaise and Pansy one evening in the parlour having drinks while we awaited dinner. The first one was from Scorpius' Transfiguration teacher telling me that he's greatly improving. The second letter was from Granger herself telling me that she's not taking no for an answer; that I'm to meet her at the address that's assigned to the enclosed Portkey or she's coming over now. I looked up at my guests and I could clearly envision the disaster that would happen if Granger came knocking at my door right now. Pansy has no idea that Granger and I are on civil terms and currently thinks, like the rest of the Wizarding world, that she's the barmiest person alive. Blaise still thinks that it's all an act. What if somehow Granger tells them that I'd spent my New Years with her and called her beautiful, that we've been speaking through letters? That cannot be allowed. I'd rather eat nails. Rusted ones. I get up immediately and mumble apologies about an emergency and as soon as I touch the enclosed, innocuous old soap dish, I was whooshing away to another location. It may look willing, but I'm almost positive that this is kidnapping.

It's six o'clock on a Thursday evening and she has me walking up a street in suburban Surrey. The streets are quiet and the sky looks bucolic. At the end of the long street is a gargantuan cathedral dressed up in the gothic style. The sky behind it is dark grey in some parts with the lower parts a dazzling and radiant red. I know that Granger did not call me all the way out here just for the spectacular scenery. I look at the address and directions that she wrote down, just to make sure and I hurry up the driveway to a house that looks similar to all the other houses on this street, except for the yard which looks like love and care was devoted to it. It's the seventh of March and already this person's flowers are beginning to peak through. Mother would be jealous. I knock on the door three times and she opens it immediately. I step inside before she has the chance to invite me in.

"Hmm, not a vampire I see," She mutters as she closes the door. I decide to ignore her barb.

"Granger, why did you call me here? What is the emergency? I was in a rather important meeting!" I don't feel the need to elaborate that my important meeting was discussing the latest gossip with Pansy and Blaise. "And where the hell am I?"

"You have the address in your hand. I mean, how did you get here?"

"Granger!"

"It was a joke!" I stare at her, tapping my feet with my arms folded. "Last time I saw some this wound up they were in a sarcophagus." She gives me a pointed look.

"I'm not uptight."

"Right, of course. This is my parent's house. I called you over because we have some things to discuss. You need to open your Floo Network. I can't keep sending you owls."

I don't want to explain to her why I won't/can't open my fireplace to the Floo Network. She looks hopeful for about a second that I'd explain, but I just cut her off with,

"Where are your manners? Aren't you going to take my coat?"

She scowls, takes my coat and throws it over her shoulder without even looking. It lands on the floor in front of the door in a heap of black. I don't even know why I'm wearing a coat. The weather is warm enough to leave it at home. But still, it's my coat!

"You are five years old, Granger, if so much." She rolls her eyes and walks off on me. "Don't walk off on me!"

I take out my wand so that the coat can be hung on the coat rack and then I follow her into what appears to be the kitchen. It's small and homey with a round table in the centre of it. The walls are painted a nice, mellow blue. The lights on the ceiling reflect playfully off the small, pretty, blue ceramic tiles at the backsplash. There's a crucifix above the entrance to the kitchen and what looks like dried palm leaves shaped like a cross hanging above the windows. I feel incredibly out of place. I stand awkwardly at the table, unsure what to do with myself. I feel as if I have too many limbs. I don't know what to do with my arms, so I shove them into my pockets. Meanwhile, she can barely keep still. She's all over the kitchen, opening cupboards frantically and generally looking like a twitchy drug addict.

"I'd have called you over to my house, but even though Ron isn't home, Harry has 24-hour access to my Floo and full access through my wards – my house is his house, you know, so any moment he can literally walk into my living room and I don't want to have to explain... We're on shaky enough ground as it is." I want to ask her what she means by that but she continues before I get the chance. "I called because I haven't heard anything from you regarding the appeal. I see that you and Narcissa filed the necessary papers, but I haven't gotten your or her opinion on anything. They might want to interview you, Narcissa and Scorpius. I've proposed the bill in the Wizengamot and I haven't heard a peep from you, though your name is in the papers so much it could be used as an auxiliary verb. You haven't told me anything about how your relationship with Scorpius is going. Is it improving, deteriorating, at a standstill?"

"I wasn't aware that you needed a status report."

"I don't. I'm just a bit concerned, is all. You wrote me that ridiculous letter when I asked whether you were avoiding me," Oh no, here it comes. She's going to bring up what I said on The Night I Wished Never Happened. Well, to be fair that title is the name of a long list and saying that I find Granger beautiful is only number ten on that list, but still it cracked the top ten so it's a mini-disaster in my book. She continues, "…and it had me a bit worried. I think you'd make an excellent politician, by the way. You seem adept at not answering questions directly."

"Yes, I'm sure the public is aching to hire a former Death Eater as Minister for Magic."

"Well, Minister for Magic might be a bit ambitious. You might want not want to reach for the stars, but maybe more like the top of the house."

"Hmm, like I go into schools and educate children on what to watch out for?"

"_You're_ the one that they have to look out for!" She turns to me and says it with a smile, so I don't feel like I should be offended. Besides, if it's the truth is it really offensive? Her eyes are a bit red like she was crying. She notices that I'm focusing on her, readying to ask her whether she was crying and she turns around to open the refrigerator. She's talking to me, but I hear nothing because all I can focus on is her backside in her grey skirt.

". . . so, I can't really offer you anything except some awful tasting whole wheat biscuits, oats and freshly squeezed beet juice." She says as she stands upright and shuts the door of the refrigerator. She turns to me. "What?"

"What?" I almost shout at her defensively. She looks at me in confusion. The chill from the refrigerator has affected her quite a bit and I can see her nipples making two sharp indentations under her shirt. She pulls her suit jacket tighter around her and folds her arms. I hope to any deity that she didn't catch me staring. To change the topic I ask her,

"Where are your parents?" Immediately after I say it, I realize that she probably just told me where they were. She's got this look on her face like she can't figure out if I'm deaf or stupid. I don't mind which she chooses right now because the truth – that I was actually sizing her up – is too humiliating.

I feel heavy with self-disgust and guilt. I don't know which is worse, that I'm being drawn back into the world of company and flesh, or that the person who is leading me there is Granger. The more I dwell on it, the more it's confirmed for me that I'm feeling ashamed that these feelings keep happening around her. I can't remember the last time I felt any sort of lingering attraction to any woman and especially to a woman who wasn't my wife.

I'm positive that it has nothing to do with Granger, per se. I'm sure that something about her is simply triggering this response from me, like a sense of déjà vu or something. I'm not sure what the trigger could be, however. All I know is that I feel vaguely lighter with her and that that in itself makes no sense because the woman irritates me to no end.

"Are you deaf or stupid?"

See what I mean.

"I just said that my parents are at the pub tonight. It's Quiz night – their category is religion and literature." She gestures to the crucifix on the wall as evidence. "They're on a health cleanse as well, so all there is in the house to eat are fruits to be juiced and whole wheat related items. Were you not listening?"

"I sometimes fade out when you speak. Your voice is the equivalent of nails across a chalkboard. We should stick to the owls."

She looks like she's one more barb away from hexing me into another dimension, but I had to do it. The comment was apropos of nothing, but I have to get back to some sense of normalcy because clearly something is wrong is with me if Granger is eliciting from me a shadow of desire. She's wearing a long, grey skirt and a white sheer top under her grey suit jacket. With her wild, brown hair she looks like a silver vase topped with hay. There is no way that _this_ woman could be the one to finally make me _feel_ something after all this time.

"_My_ voice sounds like that? You're voice has the predictable, incessant modulation of a hand saw and you're telling me about my voice?"

We stand there staring at each other. I feel fatuous simply by being in this Muggle kitchen, trying my best to pick a spot slightly to the left of Granger and focus on it rather than on her shape. I find this development so strange. I saw Pansy just this evening. She looked great as usual. Did I feel anything stirring in the nether regions for her? Nope. Was I picturing her naked while she talked? Not at that point in time. Yet, I'm standing here telling Granger that her voice makes me want to shove my wand in my ears and a ghost of want spirits me away as I mentally peel off her shirt.

That thought nearly levels me.

"Malfoy, are you alright? You look a bit unwell. Are you going to be sick?" Her voice sounds dim as if from a distance. I do feel sick. I feel sick and tired of losing my mind because obviously this is what is happening here. I have fallen into another dimension and slipped into another Draco Malfoy's pathetic life where his wife's body is still warm in her grave, yet he's mentally screwing Hermione Granger in her parents' kitchen.

"Malfoy! Malfoy!"

"I need a glass of water. I need to sit down." I hear myself saying distantly. My wife, she's probably rolling in her grave. My grandparents are probably moving out of their Malfoy Manor portraits right at this moment. "What's the matter? Are you ill? Have you eaten?"

She shoves a glass of water in my hand. She's all up in my face. I inspect the glass to make sure it's clean. There are no smudges, thankfully. I sip my water carefully, mentally wishing Granger would go away. She bends in front of me and I can see down her shirt a bit. I close my eyes.

"Have you eaten? I think we should get something to eat. Come on, let's go get something. Drink your water." I open my eyes and she's upright now, staring at me with concern in her big, brown Dickensian eyes coloured with pity. "Come on. We have to go outside to disapparate. I've wards around the house."

I follow her outside in a daze. I think that I'm genuinely sick or that I've been cursed. There can be no other explanation. I look at Granger as she hands me my cloak and I'm not really feeling anything for her, so I can assume that this attraction comes and goes like waves of nausea. Instead of feeling actual ebbs and flows of nausea, I'm getting waves of attraction to Granger. Clever, clever curse, but to what end?

"Are you sure that you're okay to apparate? We could take the car instead."

I look at the 'car' parked in the driveway. It's silver and it has four wheels and doors and that's as much as I can tell you about the car. She looks around before she whispers, "Accio Audi car keys." I don't protest in time and she grabs my arm and leads me towards the vehicle. The doors open and she sits me inside while I'm in an Inferi state, still reeling from what happened in the kitchen and the surrealism of the situation. Constantly, I ask myself 'Why am I here?', 'What just happened?' and 'Why is this happening to me?' I feel like I just got hit on the head and woke up in a new and foreign place.

I find it disconcerting to be at the mercy of Granger's ability to properly commandeer this contraption. She tells me she's had her license since she was nineteen, but that is little comfort. I'd rather she told me that she invented the thing, that she knew exactly how it worked and that her life's dream is the constant perfect execution of driving it. She even tries to give me an impromptu lesson.

"See, this is the brake for it to stop. This is the gas pedal for us to proceed forward, and this is the clutch – "

"Why are you barefoot?"

"Well, it's recommended that you drive in flat shoes and not in slippers or high heels like what I was wearing. I could transfigure my shoes, but the last time I did that the charm wore off in the most inopportune time, so I prefer to go barefoot."

"What is the danger?"

"My heel could hook under the gas pedal and instead of braking in time I'd only be accelerating and we could slam into the back of a lorry where our vehicle would explode and we'd die in terrible agony from the windshield slicing into our faces and then by the flames melting the skin off our bodies."

I couldn't make it out the door fast enough because she locked the door. She grabs me by the arm before I have the chance to disapparate.

"Malfoy, Malfoy! I was only joking!"

I look over at her and she's practically falling all over herself in hysterics. "You have an inappropriate and morbid sense of humour!"

"Me? You're the one that makes Death Eater jokes on my front step." I roll my eyes at her while I search for a good enough comeback. I have none, so I just sneer at her instead. She shakes her head and smiles at me, almost good-naturedly, but not quite. "Just put your seatbelt on, like this."

She demonstrates by putting on hers and I follow, though somewhere in the back of my mind I think that if I were in a romance novel, this would be that part where she'd lean over me to properly teach me the lesson of putting on my seatbelt. Could Granger be proper romance novel material? Does she have the vapid and sycophantic personality coupled with at least ten neuroses that men are supposed to find quirky and cute? Nope. Could I ever be the dark, brooding, mysterious type that is chivalrous with a hint of danger, but is actually a good guy underneath it all? Not a chance. For one thing I'm blond. Plus, Granger's too smart for her own good to not consider the alternative to leaning over me and buckling up my seatbelt. Nope, we could never be in a romantic story. Though, the very thought is hilarious and I find myself chuckling. She looks at me sceptically, no doubt wondering if my fear has driven me insane, but says nothing. Instead, she turns a key and a noise like a low, smooth rumbling fills the quiet. It seems to me that we're moving with little amount of effort on her part. I find it fascinating.

"You Muggles and Muggleborns are the world's greatest mysteries."

"You know, before you would have ended that sentence differently and said that we were the world's greatest mistake. And you wouldn't have said Muggleborns."

I have nothing to say to that. I think I like riding in cars for the sole purpose that I can pretend to stare at an endless array of scenery instead of responding to things that I don't know how to respond to.

The drive downtown is rather uneventful and for that I'm grateful. I try to keep my breathing pattern easy and steady when she merges onto a busier street and it seems to me a hundred different cars were now on the road. The noise is unbelievable. This is not the pure rush of wind in your ears the likes from flying on a broom, but a low hum trying to pound down the glass-and-steel invention in which we're currently trapped. It's terrifying and thrilling at the same time. She asks me what my father and mother has to say about her involvement in the bill and the appeal and all I can tell her is,

"They have their hopes pinned on you. It shames them to every inch of their soul."

She looks at me briefly and asks quietly,

"Does it shame you too? Is that why you've been avoiding seeing me?"

"No, it doesn't shame me." It surprises me that I actually mean that. "That's not the reason that I didn't want to see you." I finally admit that yes, I've been avoiding her and she reacts the way that I've been expecting her to (instantly she brings up The Night That Never Happened), yet not in the way in the way I was expecting. Instead of hurling my confession in my face, all she says is,

"You weren't that drunk that night. Did you mean what you said?"

I look at her, but she has her eyes focused on the road. She doesn't really need to as the car is almost at a standstill because of the 'traffic', as she calls it. The inside of the car is illuminated by the neon red and bright white lights of the cars and the bright yellows of the streetlamps. I can see her profile clearly and the same thought comes to me as it did on that night. I turn my head to the window.

"Yes, I did and I do." I confess to her quietly. I feel guilty and high at the confession like I just got away with a dirty crime, like stealing women's underwear or something. Gratefully, she doesn't comment. Instead, she swerves to the left and slams the brakes hard. I nearly get whiplash!

"Bloody hell, witch! Haven't you ever received a compliment?!"

"What? No, this has nothing to do with you. That pub over there is serving Chicken Philly sandwiches. I can't remember the last time I had one!"

My mouth is open in shock, I'm sure of it. She manoeuvres the car to luckily get a park in front of the pub and jumps out while I struggle with the seatbelt like the Neanderthal that I am in this Muggle world. That witch is unbelievable.

Xxx

"I've been searching for this sandwich in England ever since I spent a summer vacation in America and I had a chicken Philly sandwich there. I've tried other sandwiches, but it's not the same. Since then it's been a series of little disappointments."

"…culminating with your marriage to Weasley, no doubt?"

She pretends not to hear me. Instead she orders two sandwiches (she insists that I try it) and our drinks – glass of water for her (she doesn't want to mess with the purity of the sandwich by ruining it with sugar and alcohol) and a gin and tonic for me (I could care less about sandwich chastity).

We're sitting in a booth away from the window and to the back of the pub like we're secret lovers or something. Our drinks arrive and I inspect my glass carefully before I sip the alcohol gratefully.

"Have you been writing to Scorpius?" She asks.

"I have but he doesn't reply to any of my letters. I still write hoping that one day he'll change his mind."

"I know. Rose has been intercepting your letters. She's keeping them in the hopes that one day he'll change his mind and want to read them." A gush of emotion like admiration and gratitude surges through me for Granger's daughter. "He's been having a hard time in school what with all the papers talking about my bill and Lucius' appeal and the effect that my bill will have on that appeal. There's also all your past exploits in the papers. I'm doing like you asked. I've been writing to him, but I'm subtly trying to get him to see reason. He hasn't written back to me, but I've got a new tactic and I'm working through Rose instead. Rose says that Scorpius is only himself when he's playing Quidditch or rather is talking about Quidditch since you banned him for Quidditch as punishment for the snake episode. She's like me and doesn't care too much for the sport, but Al and even Hugo do, so they're working to get him to keep talking about Quidditch in the hopes that he'll start talking about more things."

I feel a deluge of gratefulness towards Granger and her children. It bewilders me that they would care so much for my son, who really and truly must be giving them hell. I've never really had that kind of friendship so early on in my life. Crabbe and Goyle were goons to me when I was in school but they were good as I could get to friends. My friendship with Pansy and Blaise only deepened after the war, after we realized that we did have a lot to lose that was not just financial losses.

"It's amazing isn't it," I say after I take a strong sip of my drink to tamp down any choking emotions, "that after all my hard work my child entered into his teenage life sullen and angry and mean. In other words, after all my hard work he still turned into me. I'm glad that he has friends like Rose and Hugo and yes, even Potter's son."

She looks up at the ceiling and I look up too. "What? What are you looking up at?" I ask because all I see are rafters.

"After what you just said, any moment now I expect lightning to come through and strike you dead."

I smile a bit at that and she smiles back too.

"Are you and Potter alright?" I change the topic because I was again getting that wave of nauseating attraction to her. Need to drink more.

"Yeah. He's in a bit of a tight position, you see. As you know, he's the Head of the Auror Department and is therefore required to be on the Wizengamot, _ex officio_. He's only present for very important trials and therefore wouldn't have been there when I presented the bill to the Wizengamot. I didn't tell him that I was going to bring up that bill or that when your father's appeal came round that I'd be the one to say let's look into this matter a bit deeper because I think that Lucius has reformed. He was thrown completely by it. He had to hear it in the news."

"Why didn't you tell him? I've always seen him as your other husband, but with no sex and an enormous wall of respect between you."

"I didn't want him to talk me out of it. I knew that this was going to happen, so I delayed it until it was too late to change my mind. But really the press has made it out to be worse than it looks. Initially the Prophet got that picture of us quarrelling in the atrium of the Ministry and turned things a bit out of hand. He was only upset that I didn't give him a heads up. Of course the Prophet ruins everything and makes things out to be a lot worse than it seems. Harry is actually in support of Lucius not getting the Kiss, if not being freed. It's Ginny who's the problem. It's difficult to support Lucius' cause when your wife was nearly murdered because of that man."

I feel a bit uncomfortable, but not as much as I should. She has a detached way of speaking about the topic that makes me feel as if she's talking about some other Death Eater father's past crimes.

"Shouldn't she be upset with you as well? I mean, you're her friend and sister-in-law."

"She _is_ upset with me. Right now, the entire Weasely family is a bit upset with me. They don't understand, but I don't blame them."

"And what about Weasley? How are things there?" Since she brought up the comment I made on New Years I think that I have free reign to bring up her failing marriage.

"Things are…not that good at the moment. He's in Harry's position as well. He's straddling the line of who to support – his wife or his sister. I think he resents me for not giving him a heads up and for starting this whole thing in the first place. It's making thing a bit strained between us, more than it already is."

"You didn't tell him?"

"I just feel uncomfortable talking –"

She cuts off abruptly and I can tell that she was not going to admit that to me. She takes a few sips of her water to make up time. I don't give up on her.

"You feel uncomfortable talking to your husband?"

She looks in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt wondering _where_ is that waiter with her sandwich?

"It's just…we haven't talked, I mean really talk, in a long time and it feels awkward now to talk about anything that isn't 'what time are you coming home' and 'what do you want to eat' and 'Padma Flooed and she said to get back to her right away.'"

Again I notice that she didn't mean to drop in that last part about Padma. I suspect that she had a row with him right before she saw me and hence, the reason for the tears.

"Is that why you were crying? Did you two have a row tonight?"

She looks up almost startled that I'd recognized she'd been crying.

But just then our food arrives and Granger's face lights up like a flower in bloom. This sandwich better be worth seeing what is quite possibly Granger's orgasm face.

I bite into the sandwich and I look up at Granger after I've swallowed. We have the same lovestruck expression on our faces. This is quite possibly the best thing that I have ever eaten in my entire life. The bread is fluffy; the chicken is tender and that cheese sauce! I would murder my Mother for this. I take another bite and it is so divine that I officially bump Granger up to being my new best friend for introducing me to this. I want to get the name of the chef so that I can send him or her flowers. We finish our sandwiches with moans of pleasure. We both have on these satisfied expressions as if we just got the best fucks of our lives.

"I'll have to come here more often."

"I'll have to come with you." She says and we smile at each other. It's not nearly as weird and _that_ is weird.

We sit for a little while longer talking about food. We chat about our children, about how Hugo wants to learn to play the piano as he's interested in music. I tell her that I can play and that I can give him a few pointers. She pulls out all of Rose's letters from her purse and reads them to me so that I can have an idea of what's going on with Scorpius. He's not doing so well. He's pulling away from his schoolmates because of all the flak that's in the papers about me. I start to tell Granger about how I can relate, about how lonely I felt during my sixth year, about how upset I was with my father. She listens patiently, not asking any questions, just listening and I have no idea how much I needed that – to really talk to someone. And then she asks me an out-of-the-blue question.

"Why didn't you marry Pansy?"

"Hmm. Well, I suppose not everyone can be like you and marry their high school sweetheart, as the Americans say. No relationship is truly safe when you're that young. Pansy is one of my best friends, but she's too close to my age and outlook and background for our affair to be anything but sunny and slightly banal. She was there for me during my trial and imprisonment, but we knew it was over. It was just a routine and some vague sense of duty that kept her at my side. When I was released, it was sort of understood that we'd go our separate ways. It was different when there was a war and I was in prison. You feel as if there is too short an interval for enjoyment of life, so you must seize the day and you count all the major things that you'd like in a lover, grouped under huge categories – she's got a brain, she doesn't hex me on a regular basis, she's got money, she's a pureblood, she's a brunette –"

"What?" She says with a disbelieving snort.

"I don't like fair-haired women. I prefer brunettes."

"I see." She smirks a bit and looks like she's filing that piece of information for future reference. If I didn't know better I'd say that Granger might be flirting with me. Or worse, that I'm flirting with her. Luckily, I know better.

"When everything settles down and there's no war and no dramatic happenings, you realize that what you really want is someone you can have a conversation with that doesn't make you want to stick your wand in your ears. You want someone who's there for you because they want to be, not because it's the right thing to do."

I suppose she must have needed to hear that because she's telling me how she and Weasley don't even talk anymore and that she hardly sees him because of his both jobs and her job, but it's reached a point that she doesn't even want to see him.

"The thing is I understand exactly what you're saying about the differences of war and peace time and how it affects a person's choices and relationships. I already knew all of Ron's faults: his pendulum emotions swings from his inability to take a situation seriously to making a mountain out of mole hill; that he would mess up and his excuses would be infinitely more mystifying than the deed; that he's a complete slob. But in times like the ones we grew up in, we wouldn't count those things."

She could have stayed home tonight, she tells me, but she needed to get out and so she decided to call me. She has no idea why I'd be first on the list of people she has as a refuge. Until she used that word we both hadn't realized that tonight was like that – like a refuge.

"Would you like to play a game of darts?" She asks in an attempt to break whatever it is that's between us, pulling us closer. I shrug as an answer and she briefly tells me what Darts is all about. "Don't cheat." She says to me as we get up.

"Then how am I supposed to win?"

She rolls her eyes and smiles and I can't help but smile too. I play fair and square and beat her at everything. I spend the rest of the night boasting about it, until she challenges me to a game of pool (again, a game I have no idea what it is) and thoroughly kicks my arse.

It's nearly eleven o'clock by the time we decide to leave the pub. The night air is cool and I feel strange. I don't bother to put on my coat. We get into the car and she presses a button and a song comes on. My body feels light from the alcohol and good conversation. It's been so long that I almost don't recognise it, but I think I'm feeling something akin to happiness tinged with a strangeness of emotion that I can't place.

_Kiss me hard before you go_

_Summertime sadness_

_I just wanted you to know _

_That baby you're the best_

It isn't summer. It's the ending of March, but it has been unseasonably warm. Still, the song strikes something in me. I look over at Granger and she's wearing a ghost of a smile. She looks across at me and starts singing the rest of the lyrics that I don't know. She smiles at me briefly before she turns her attention to the road again. I finally realize what that strange feeling is. It's reluctance. I'm unwilling for the night to be over and she is too judging by how slow she's driving. I feel that wave of nauseating attraction again. To get rid of it, I change the topic.

"Is this all that this can do? Brooms are way better."

She laughs. "Driving, especially driving shift, can give you a sense of power of being able to control something so large and foreign. You can get a real sense of control on the road. Here, put your hand on the gear stick."

She takes my right hand and puts it over the gear stick as she calls it and puts her hand over mine, intertwining our fingers. She accelerates and I feel my body pressing into the back of my seat by the force of the change in speed. She does not take the same route that we took to get here. Instead, she takes the longest route there is with the most amount of winding roads and hills that she could find. She's controlling the car with a precision that I never thought possible, but I feel like I'm part of it as she has me changing the gears.

"How do you know when to change gears?"

"You listen for it. You can hear the engine singing. Listen."

The engine sounds loud, almost screeching like an animal that's on a leash and wants to be let loose. I know this isn't possible, but I feel like I can identify with this inanimate object. I feel the tension. I feel the need for release. She switches gears, her hand gripping mine.

"It's powerful, don't you think?"

It's powerful indeed. I get goosebumps from it. She takes corners at speeds that have me wondering if I'll die here with Granger holding my hand, but I can see that she is in complete control of this vehicle. She knows exactly what she's doing, which is good because if we were to crash I want her to be going at top speed, so there'd be no chance I'd live to become a paraplegic. I'm terrified, yet I have never been more turned on in my life. Surprisingly we come to a smooth stop in her parents' driveway as we gear down from fifth to first.

"Brooms are better." I feel as if I must say and she huffs out a laugh.

We hold onto each other's hands a bit longer than is necessary, notice what we're doing and practically jump out the car just to get away from the awkwardness of it all. We don't even bother to come around to the same side of the car. I can't because I'm sporting an erection that I'm positive would make things even more awkward between us. It's because of the circumstances, though. Seeing any woman display that sort of power and control and capability would turn me on. It doesn't have anything to do with Granger at all. We stand there in the cool night with this big, huge, awkward contraption between us.

"So, um thanks for coming and letting me know how Lucius is taking things."

"We didn't actually talk about my father." I remind her and there's a moment where we both shuffle guiltily at that. It's the same thing with the letters. We were supposed to be writing about Father's appeal, yet…

"That's…that's true. How did that happen? That was the whole purpose of meeting…" She mumbles, her face reddened. She is the physical representation of shame right now.

There's an awkward pause as we both wonder what that means. Do we have to meet again, then? I wait for her to say something. She doesn't. Eventually, I say,

"Thanks for looking out for Scorpius. I appreciate it."

"I will continue to look out for him and I'll let you know what's going on with him." Her voice sounds high and stilted. She's nervous.

"I'll Owl you back this time."

"Yes, I'd appreciate that…your thoughts on Scorpius, that is."

We don't have anything else to say to each other or any reason to linger, yet we want to. She has to go check in on her parents and I have to go call off Pansy's search party for me. I am positive that she's reached the Auror Department and is trying to explain that though I left willingly, she is almost positive that I was kidnapped.

"So, regarding your father's appeal…"

"See you around, Granger. Same place?" I walk back into the street and right before I disapparate I hear her say,

"Next time I'll teach how to play pool." She says hurriedly and I smile broadly at the implication that there'll be a next time.

I turn and in a whirl I see her looking disappointed – the same look she was wearing when she realized her great sandwich was almost finished. I land outside the gates of my house with the same feeling she was wearing. I didn't want to leave her. I have never felt stranger. That was one of the best nights I've had in years and it was with a woman that I swore I hated. I feel guilty and high.

It's probably the alcohol. I've got to stop drinking around her.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay folks, I really need to hear your comments for what to do next. Originally the next chapter is an interlude from Rose, but it's fast forwarded a couple of months down the road. What I want to know is should I post one more Hermione/Draco interaction chapter before the Rose chapter? The things is the Rose Interlude moves the plot a bit more to where I wanna go, but a Hermione/Draco interaction chapter would flesh out their developing friendship a bit more. I don't know what to do. If you say yes, it should be noted that the next update would be about a week from now (that's about how long it takes me to write a chapter) instead of the day after tomorrow like I intended. So let me know and also, what are your thoughts on this chapter?


	10. Interlude: Rose

**Interlude: Rose **

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Well, majority rules so here's the Rose interlude. Even though I haven't been in school in quite a while, I honestly think that sometimes school is just as bad or worse than out here in the 'real' world…

* * *

"Your father seriously needs to cut his beard. He's starting to look like he should be hunting for his own food and writing the Death Eater manifesto from a cabin in the woods." I say to Scorpius as I skim through another one of the Daily Prophet's articles on Mr. Malfoy.

Al, Scorpius and I are sitting in the empty Great Hall and looking out the windows at the old oak tree in front of the lake. It's Sunday and there's a terrible stillness to the school that only Sundays could evoke. There's a heat wave in England this spring and we all wear a light sheen of sweat making us glisten like we're painted with a clear top coat. We wanted to go outside, but Scorpius' complexion gives him only two options: be reddened like a lobster or stay inside. Besides, everyone else was outside and that was not where he wanted to be.

Scorpius and Al were in an intense and convoluted conversation about international Quidditch before I interrupted them with my opinion on Mr. Malfoy's grooming habits and reminded Scorpius of his father's existence. Needless to say, he is not pleased.

"You know, everything that's been going on right now," he gives an upward nod to the headline: _Former Wizen Says Draco Malfoy Made Deal to Escape Azkaban Early; Trying to Get Same Deal For Father_, "can be traced back to you somehow."

"How on earth did you come to that conclusion?" I almost scream at him.

"You're to blame because it was you that invited Father to Boxing Day lunch in the first place." His voice is very calm, but cold. I can't remember the last time I saw him smile, genuinely, that is. He's getting thinner; the angles on his face sharpening and his eyes looking perpetually steely. Despite the collective hatred the school has for him, I know that there are more than a few girls who harbour secret crushes on him. Shamefully, I think my cousin Lily has fallen into this group. He pays them no mind. More than ever has he earned his nickname of Iron Dolly. And that's another thing. He gets the nickname 'Iron Dolly' and I get 'Froggy'? I suppose 'Smartest Witch of Her Age' is too long and already taken by Mum. Life is so unfair!

"_You_ got them talking to each other." He accuses. "If it weren't for you he would've never have been using his friendship with Mrs. Weasley like this."

"Friendship? Do they even talk to each other?" Al asks. "I mean, there've been no pictures of them even being in the same space together since Rose's birthday."

"Exactly!"

Al and I exchange looks before Al tentatively asks, "Exactly what?"

"Father's not stupid. He knows what everyone would say if he were suddenly to become friends with Mrs. Weasley. They'd say that he planned this whole thing and that somehow he got her to agree to his plans, most likely under duress."

"But they're saying that anyway," Al reminds him.

"True, but they have no confirmation of it. It's hard for them to get any kind of evidence if there's no proof that Father and Mrs. Weasley are even talking to each other."

"So…you think that your Dad and my Aunty are talking to each other and this whole thing is one big conspiracy for him to get your grandfather out of prison?"

"Yes."

"Uh huh," Al gives me a look to mean that he thinks Scorpius has gone off the deep end. There's an awkward silence that poor Al tries to break with, "Can't you do something about this heat?"

I look around at the prefect that's sitting at the Ravenclaw table, her eyes in a book. I turn back around and conjure a mini cyclone with a cooling charm. The breeze feels so good.

"Froggy, sometimes you really live up to your other nickname." Scorpius says with genuine praise. Sometimes he really can be nice.

"Well, all you have to do is swish your arms like this and then pull it down counter-clockwise after –"

They pretend to fall asleep, even making loud snoring sounds.

"Really? Really? That's what we're doing now?"

"Sorry, how long was I out?" Scorpius wipes his fake drool and Al rubs the fake sleep out of his eye.

"Sorry Rosie, it's just every time you start to educate us, you know what happens."

"You two are fools."

They smile indulgently at me, well Scorpius smirks or something like it. Ever since the incident at Mr. Malfoy's house the two of them have been…nicer to each other, even laughing at each other's jokes. Scorpius has been less of a git to Al. It's still a bit shaky because every now and then Scorpius would lash out at Al if he gets too comfortable. He's maintaining a distance with Al, but the distance is clearly shortening. I huff at them and raise the newspaper in front of my face to block them out, but that was a bad move. It only served to remind Scorpius that he was on the rant of a madman. Luckily, Al tries to rescue me again.

"You coming to the game this weekend?"

I pull the papers down a bit. Scorpius smirks at Al and starts to tease him about the game. I can't believe that distraction worked. Apparently the boy has the attention span of a goldfish.

"Potter, Gryffindor might actually have a chance to win this year now that I've been banned from playing Quidditch because of Father suddenly wanting to do the right thing and Rose being a sell-out."

"Well, at least half of what you said is true," I mutter, but he hears me. Before he can retort Al steps in with,

"Don't make it sound like that. Slytherin won the House Cup last year. Big deal. If I had scored one more goal…" Scorpius snorts at this. Al ignores him. "But you do know that if Slytherin wins this game, you might not get called back as Seeker or to any position, right?"

A shadow passes over Scorpius' face and I can see that he had not even considered that thought. Like he needs that right now. Us and Quidditch is all he's got.

Al realizes his mistake and tries to backtrack.

"What I meant –"

"Forget about it."

"Scorpius –"

Al gets a look of such deepest disgust that his words die in his throat and he kind of sinks into himself.

"Scorpius, you are such an arse." I shake my head at him.

"What did I do?" He honestly asks in confusion.

"Rose –"

"Look Froggie, it doesn't matter. Potter's their best Chaser. He'll probably win the game single-handedly for Gryffindor."

Al looks confused. I imagine I must be mirroring the same look. Did Scorpius just give Al a compliment? The two of us sit there in a stunned silence while Scorpius looks uncomfortable. I open my mouth to say something, anything when we hear something like snickering. We all turn around to see a group of Slytherin boys from his year at the entrance of the Great Hall.

It's so strange and amazing to see Scorpius change from bumbling and awkward teenager to someone whose eyes contain a hatred of burning suns that could melt away skin and dry the tears in your eyes. The Slytherins try to return the look, but fail. They leave eventually, but the scowl remains on his face.

"What was that about?" I ask him.

"Quidditch stuff." He lies and takes the papers from me.

"But they're not even on the Quidditch team."

Sometimes I wish Al would learn when to keep his mouth shut. The look Scorpius gives him…

The upcoming Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor (yes, Slytherin made the finals without Scorpius forcing him to reconsider his purpose in life) has heightened the state of anger in the school. Fights break out all the time and can be traced to either a Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry or just plain hating on Scorpius rivalry. The situation has reached a bit of a boiling point and the students have progressed from sly looks to dirty words to shoving to throwing hexes that are not limited to Scorpius alone. Al and I are now guilty by association. Our friendship with him apparently means that we are supporters of Death Eaters and their ideology. The Slytherins attack us because clearly we are in support of prats that carelessly throws away Quidditch games by getting punished over the holidays. The prefects were ordered to keep an eye on us, but luckily we have the entire Weasley and Potter brood also looking out for us. The school's a bit afraid to touch Al and James for fear that Harry Potter would descend upon Hogwarts and unleash his wrath. I laughed out loud at that because I didn't think that Uncle Harry had wrath. James informed me that yes, he did. However, while Uncle Harry had supposed wrath, Scorpius has a simmering anger, boiling his blood. Any moment now I know that he will explode from all the pressure.

It doesn't take long for him to get back to his theory on why his father is the devil incarnate. Al nods sympathetically and generally tries to make himself less of a nuisance. I don't need to respond because he's practically soliloquizing now and also, I think he might have a point.

Yes, there have been no reports of Mum or Mr. Malfoy having any sort of contact with each other, but I highly suspect that they have been talking and the proof is in the correspondence – Mum's letters to me have a slight change of…direction. Yes, she used to inquire after Scorpius and give him words of encouragement through my letters that she hoped would eventually reach his ears, but now, now she was going into details about her sixth year in Hogwarts and how hard _Mr. Malfoy_ had to suffer. The entire story was written in the conditional – 'if I were Malfoy, I too would have been terrified and I too would think that I had no other choice'. It was like watching dementia happen in real time on two feet of parchment. What was going on? Why was this happening?

There are other little signs, but the point is that something is going on. Mum and Mr. Malfoy have been corresponding for the least and for the most, may have become friends. According to Scorpius, it's a conspiracy on the part of his father.

"During the Christmas holidays," he's telling us, "I overheard Father and Uncle Blaise talking. Father was telling Uncle that he saw Mrs. Weasley at King's Cross and how Rose," cue look of naked hatred from him, "invited us to lunch on Boxing Day. Then Uncle Blaise told Father that he should take hold of the opportunity to get to know Mrs. Weasley because she is on the Wizengamot and could be influential in helping out my grandfather."

"What did your father say? Did he agree to the idea?" Al asks.

"He didn't say anything, but I can tell that he was thinking about it."

"Even if that's true, Mum would never fall for it and Mr. Malfoy would never try it." He looks at me with defiance. "Also, there is no reason for the two of them to want to be friends."

"I'm telling you, he'll try to use her. Believe it or not he can be quite charming when he wants to be. You're already on his side. He talked to you nicely in the hospital, brought you charmed flowers, made an exception to come to your birthday party and bought you a really thoughtful gift. Admit it; you're already in his corner. I've heard you – 'I'm sure that your father isn't that bad; you should give him a chance.' They didn't used to call him the Prince of Slytherin for nothing, Rose. I'm telling you that he's using Mrs. Weasley and nothing good can come of it."

I don't argue with him and I suppose that uncharacteristic response or my expression must have said something because he looks at me shrewdly. But then Al jokes with,

"Of course Aunty and Mr. Malfoy could never be friends. It would be a most unholy alliance. The collision of the two heretofore never-to-be-united entities have gone against the natural order of the universe and the result of this calamitous union are most calamitous consequences that are equivalent to the plagues of pestilence and fire and brimstone. The sun would fall out of the sky. Cats and dogs would cohabitate and there would be the death of hope."

I burst out laughing and even Scorpius laughed out loud as well. Al used his 'crazy preacher' voice and we spend the next few minutes laughing away at the crazy preacher we always see at King's Cross who speaks of the end of the world when witches and wizards would rise up and take over and blah blah blah.

Our argument is laid aside for the time being, but I know it is not forgotten. Scorpius gives me shrewd looks for the next week, trying to subtly weaken me so that I'd eventually break down and tell him what was on my mind, but I can't do it. I can't admit that I think he might be right and that Mr. Malfoy is manipulating Mum. I don't have any definitive proof, so I make no definitive judgements.

* * *

The game is already an hour late.

"I hear they've had an accident." A fourth year behind me says.

"Accident? I know what that's code to mean: a fight." His friend says.

"Yep. They got into it and now they're probably getting stitched up by Madame Pompfrey and suffering her wrath too. Oh look, they're coming out."

Madame Hooch makes the two captains shake hands and they both try to surreptitiously crush each other's hands and burn each other to ashes using only the power of their gazes. It doesn't work. The only person who has true potential to do that is Scorpius who is…missing. I look around the stands. Where is he?

I'm sitting with a bunch of other boys from my year and for the last hour all I heard was talk about Quidditch. It washed over me until my eyes glazed over like I had a nictitating membrane. No wonder I didn't notice if he was missing as I was busy thinking up ways to maim myself; any excuse to get away from this conversational torture. But when the game starts everyone around me sits up rigid with excitement, their lungs screaming out in pleasure; their eyes opened wide in an attempt to not miss any possibly riveting action. Everyone is like that except Lily and a group of her friends. She is sitting a few rows in front of me and looking over at the Slytherin stands in confusion; she and her girlfriends looking a bit disappointed. I look over and realize the cause of their teenage distress – their fancy – Scorpius has still failed to show up. And this is very much a surprise. As much as Scorpius had become the school pariah, I know that he would risk life and limb to come see this match.

Al zooms close to me on his broom causing the crowd to duck and shriek in fear and excitement. He gives me a questioning look and I shrug in reply to his question. I have no idea where Scorpius could be.

I wonder if he was involved in another fight…

Today of all days, Al's scoring sucks!

The Seventh-year Gryffindor captain had to call a time-out and give Al a motivating speech in the form of two clouts to the back of his head.

Quietly and slightly limping, I see Scorpius enter the stands.

Al clambers back onto his broom and eventually scores a few more goals.

I can see Scorpius sitting in the front row (I supposed he still had some sort of power in Slytherin for the first years that were in those seats parted for him like they were the red sea), his expression hard like concrete and his face nearing the colour of it. I suppose he has a lot riding on this game. If Slytherin lost they would blame him, especially if they lost because their Seeker failed to catch the Snitch in time. If they won, especially if their new Seeker caught the Snitch in time, they would question his original purpose on the team and he might not be invited to play next year.

To be shunned by everyone . . . I know he can barely stand it.

The Seekers have spotted the Snitch. If Slytherin catches the snitch, that's it, the game would be over. But Gryffindor needs not just to catch the Snitch, but we also needed one more point or else catching that Snitch would be moot. Al is in line for a shot. Our Seeker has his fingers inches away from the Snitch. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, even me. The crowd is going insane with the excitement. Even I'm shouting for Al to make that shot and I chance a look over at Scorpius and he looks like he just found out his mother died all over again. His face is white. I see Al look over at him. I see Al take the shot. I see Al miss purposely. I see us catch the Snitch but it's not enough and I see Al becoming the most hated person in Gryffindor.

Slytherins. The disloyal, fickle-minded, two-faced, opportunistic brats that they are have forgotten all about how they treated Scorpius for the last three months and are now embracing him like they just remembered that he's one of their own, begging him to come play Quidditch for them next season. He never takes his eyes off of Al who by now has to have the Headmistress escort him off the pitch with her own shield spell. Al has his head held up bravely, but he might as well be holding a bag with thirty pieces of silver. I look over at Scorpius. I hope that he never forgets this one moment of friendship. I get up with the rest of the dejected Gryffindors while James collects on his bets. People have lost a lot of money.

Sometime after eleven when the common room quiets down because everyone who isn't a Potter or a Weasley left, Al resurrects himself from his room. He looks horrible and all the questions that everyone wants to ask him die in their throats. "I…I'm sorry, guys." We all avert our eyes and mumble vague clichés like "it happens to the best of us," and "you win some, you lose some." In an attempt to elevate the mood, Roxie suggests that we sneak down to the kitchen and nick some food. We welcome the distraction.

We are in front of the great oak doors when we unexpectedly run into a group of Slytherins, the same group of boys that Scorpius had his staring match with the other day. They had been partying and their win has made them bolder and their prefects clearly more lax, as not a one of them are in sight. A disaster is inevitable.

Hasty McHaste, also known as Stupid James Potter, throws the first hex. A calamity follows after that. A number of Slytherins come out from who knows where displaying the sort of support and loyalty that I had no idea they were capable of without turning to stone. The only advantage we have is that our parents are war veterans and found it in our best interest to teach us a wide variety of hexes and defences against hexes and curses.

Lily's Bat Bogey hex is vicious and Hugo's hex to make people vomit slugs is most impressive. Dad taught him that one. Things take a turn for the worse when the Slytherins decided to mix magic with brute force. The punch that Al receives to this face surely broke his nose and sends him flying back against the wall. The perpetrator is swinging back for another hit. I raise my wand to protect him when Scorpius Malfoy blocks the intended punch not with a shield spell, but with his own fist to the young wizard's face. I'm sure that he broke that boy's nose and possibly some teeth.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" The boy asks; his voice muffled.

I see the look in Scorpius' eyes change. It's the look that he's been wearing all year; the one where he looks like he's this close to jumping over the desk and beating and/or hexing someone into the wall.

"Aww, he's protecting his f–" The idiot doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Scorpius is punching him again.

"Scorpius," Al croaks out and puts his hand on Scorpius' shoulder. He's shrugged off violently and Al looks up in confused surprise. They stand there for a second just staring at each other, Scorpius breathing hard like a monster, Al looking bewildered.

"Scor –"

"Bugger off, Potter!"

Al is confused, but then he too sees the look in Scorpius' eyes and he knows that whatever moment they had, whatever debt Scorpius owed; they're all forgotten. I'm grateful for when the teachers and the prefects come in to stop this madness. I don't want to see what Scorpius would do. I don't want to see him fail not just as a friend, but as a person.

* * *

Detentions for the rest of the term! I would get no free time in the evenings to study! I HATE QUIDDITCH! It all leads back to Quidditch and stupid Scorpius Malfoy. I am positive that I can adequately explain with logic and a flow chart why this is his entire fault. He's sitting nearest to the door and I purposely choose a seat farthest from him. Neither Al nor I have spoken to him since last night's incident and I have no intention of speaking to him any time soon. I don't care if he saved Al from getting an impromptu reconstructive surgery. I saw in his eyes that he was about to give him up for slaughter.

"No, it all leads back to you." All says to me as we (the entire Potter and Weasley clan plus Scorpius) sit outside the Headmistress' office while our parents are inside probably discussing more ways to best punish us. I don't know why they insist on torturing us this way. We already received our punishment from the Headmistress. Do we really need to sit and stew in nerves and worry?

"Ex-CUSE-me?" He doesn't shrink away from my glare.

"If you never spoke to Scorpius on the train almost two years ago, this would never have happened. I told you to stay away from him."

"Not once have you told me that."

"It was implied."

"A lot of things are implied with you, aren't they?" I mumble.

Mum and Uncle Harry look furious while Dad looks slightly amused. I swear I see Aunt Ginny give Lily a subtle pat on the back for her Bat Bogey hex while she was lecturing her. I can see Mr. Malfoy cautiously approach his son and lead him away from us and down the corridor. Mum is furiously lecturing Hugo and me on the virtues of knowing when to walk away, while Dad nods in tandem with her words, an incongruous smug grin on his face. She turns on her heels and we are expected to follow her so that we could keep up with her diatribe. Walking down the hall she literally runs into Professor Flitwick and he beams up at her like she didn't nearly run him over. Mum and Dad stop to talk to Professor Flitwick and Hugo tries to skulk off from the tongue-lashing he knows will continue as soon as Mum finishes her unexpected social call.

I lean against the wall and I hear faintly two voices that sound familiar. I look into a door left ajar and see Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius are there. Mr. Malfoy is leaning against a desk with his arms folded, his head down as he inspects his shoes I assume and Scorpius is most likely unconsciously, mirroring this exact stance.

"I know that you're angry with me and I know why you're upset with me…" Mr. Malfoy says. He's speaking haltingly, his drawl slow like molasses on a cigarette break. "I know that you blame me for your mother's…" He stops here, unable to finish the word, "…and I'll accept your blame, but son . . . I can't . . . I can't . . . I need to know what's going on with you. Your Professors have said that you're moodier than usual; distant. McGonagall says that you have a very…interesting…dynamic with Rose Weasley and her cousin."

Scorpius' head snaps up and his father's too. "What did she say?"

Mr. Malfoy looks at his son, studying him and wondering where in his last sentence lay the key to a response.

"She said that your Slytherin counterparts are giving you grief over your friendship with them, especially . . . She said that you get into a lot of rows defending your friendship with those two."

Well colour me surprised. Scorpius has no defence for this accusation of loyalty, so like a true Slytherin, he misdirects by answering an unasked question.

"You're using Mrs. Weasley."

"What?"

"I know what you're doing. You're using her to get Grandfather out of prison. You don't like her. You don't want anything to do with her or the Weasleys. You haven't changed. You don't even want to talk to Teddy and he's our family, but you're chatting it up with Mrs. Weasley. You're a hypocrite!"

Mr. Malfoy only supports Scorpius' point when he has to stop and think of who exactly is this Teddy person. When recognition hits he gives his son a hard stare and Scorpius seems to shrink into himself expecting a reprimand, but none is coming. I get a sick feeling in my stomach because I don't hear Mr. Malfoy deny the claim. Instead like a true Slytherin he misdirects and he says,

"Are you feeling a pressure to push them away?" Scorpius avoids his gaze. "But you don't want to do that because they're not that bad, are they? They're being very good friends to you, aren't they? If you push them away, you won't have anyone else, will you? Well, you won't have anyone you'd consider a true friend, would you?"

Scorpius doesn't answer immediately. "They're alright. Rose is really nice. Al is…" He hangs his head so I can't see his expression, but his tone is very light.

"Do you fancy her?"

"Who?"

"Rose,"

His head snaps up in surprise. "It's not like that. She's like a…like a sister or something." Well, that's one question answered…

"And…"

"And what?"

Scorpius' tone has changed and that look that I saw last night has returned. He gets so angry that his father stays perfectly still, afraid that in his words lies a minefield and any moment he might set off one.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Scorpius is tight-lipped. His lips are a thin line of impenetrability. He shakes his head and shrugs casually.

"Son . . . just talk to me." He sounds almost pleading and wretched and I feel ashamed like I saw something I wasn't supposed to ever see: a Malfoy begging.

"I'm just . . . I'm just. . ." Mr. Malfoy looks hopeful for about a second before Scorpius crushes his dreams with, "I'm just in a bad mood after last night, is all."

"Right, right, of course."

The moment is lost and Mr. Malfoy looks defeated, but quickly clears his throat and readjusts his expression. He's back to looking slightly bored. "I'd punish you some more for this, but I see that you already have detention. I'll take off your current punishment as well." Mr. Malfoy waves his wand and taps his son three times on the right shoulder with it. Scorpius doesn't even bother to pretend to look grateful.

"You can go back to playing Quidditch. Please do well in your exams and don't let Rose Weasley beat you in every test. I'd never hear the end of it from Granger."

So they do talk! Scorpius gives him a look.

"How is Grandfather's appeal coming along, sir?" Scorpius suddenly asks. Mr. Malfoy regards him shrewdly before he answers.

"Don't worry about that. I have everything under control."

He suddenly moves to the door and I bend down to tie my shoelaces. Yes, I know that's lame, but that's the best that I could come up with at short notice. I can feel Scorpius looking at me suspiciously when he comes out of the room. I look up and see Mr. Malfoy pass my Mum without a glance, but his swishing cloak hits her ankle. He had no reason to pass that close to her and she acts as if he had not touched her at all, her eyes focused on the professor. Mum's lack of reaction is in high contrast to Dad and Professor Flitwick, who look at Mr. Malfoy no doubt wondering about his arrogance and in truth, it did look like he did that as if to say make room for King Draco Malfoy. But I know better. The way that looked… It looked like he was telling Mum goodbye in a subtle way, but it was so subtle that he might as well have shouted out to her.

I look over at Scorpius. He noticed it too. He gives me a raised eyebrow to mean, 'well, what are you going to do about that?' He walks after his father and Professor Flitwick eventually ends his fawning over my parents. Mum and Dad turn to me.

"Where's your brother?" Dad asks.

"He made a break for it."

"What!" Mum cries. "I'm on it." Dad says and heads off to find Hugo.

"You know, I don't know what he thinks I'm going to do to him. People'll think I abuse him."

"Mum," I interrupt her, "I need to tell you something."

She looks like she's dreading hearing more news of my misbehaviour. "Yes?"

"It's about Mr. Malfoy…"

* * *

**A/N**: So, what are your thoughts on Scorpius (besides that he's being a brat)? Review and tell me! Does the experience of school for him and Rose and Al seem realistic given the situations? Is there a lesson to be learnt, but poor Scorpius has yet to see it?


	11. Chapter Seven: Hermione Part One

**Chapter Seven: Hermione Part One**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

* * *

It's Friday evening and I'm staring down a white envelope in front of me. I'm sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea after I just wrote back to Malfoy that I would not be able to see him later at the pub, the one near my parents' house. I tell him I'm sick. I hope he gets the letter on time. I really wish he would turn his Floo Network back on, but that one time I brought it up left him in a sour mood. I just know it has something to do with The Incident that happened three or four years ago. Every time I try to subtly ask what happened then he gives me this look, this bowels-evacuating glare and I know better than to engage him further. I can't believe that I know what Malfoy's looks mean. I suppose that's what happens when you clandestinely meet someone every Friday for drinks and the best sandwich ever over the space of about three months.

Has all that time been one big ploy?

I find it hard to believe. Does he really hate the best bone in my body and is secretly thinking up ways to nullify my existence as soon as he gets what he wants? Has he really been using me and my daughter as means to an end?

I really and truly hope not because I will make him regret it. I will make sure that my face will be the first thing he sees in his mind when he wakes up in the morning and goes to sleep at night in whatever will be left of that torture chamber that he calls Malfoy Manor. I will haunt him forever until the day he takes up his wand and begs his son to Avada Kedavra him just to get me out of his head.

My hands are shaking from rage at the thought. I know it's not really because of Malfoy. Rose told me her suspicions since Sunday and I wasn't this upset. As a matter of fact the possibility of Malfoy using me was considered, but discarded after I became…friends, I suppose, with him. I plan on talking to him about it as soon as I can collect my thoughts. I'm looking for the right opportunity and enough time to carefully build my argument. Malfoy's smart. He's not like Ron, whom I can bullshit my way out of an argument. I've been really calm about the whole thing all week as I think of the perfect opportunity to confront him. I suppose the Wizengamot denying Lucius' appeal is the perfect opportunity.

That's what I'm really angry about. Lucius lost the appeal. They denied it based on personal reasons and not the law. They simply don't like Lucius Malfoy and I told them as much, but not in as nice a phrasing. The words 'bigoted', 'obsolete' and 'jackasses' might have been bandied around this afternoon after the appeal was denied. That has me angry; not so much that they rejected the appeal, but the fact that I cared so much about it. I was practically ranting to them after they denied the appeal with a majority vote based solely on the fact that they just don't like Lucius Malfoy. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't like Lucius any more than they do, but I am a member of the Wizengamot and I believe in justice and equality and the fairness of the law. Apparently, they believe in it too, except when it comes to Lucius Malfoy.

What has me really, really angry is that I hope to the heavens that after I poured all my heart and soul into this appeal that Malfoy was not just using me and after he hears this news that he won't simply cast me aside. The thought gives me a heavy feeling in my chest and a sense of guilt. I shouldn't care so much about my friendship with him, but I do. I can't face him yet. I can't handle it if he finds me past my usefulness to him.

He couldn't possibly be lying to me all this time. He would have to be the world's greatest actor. Is it possible for him to fake those smiles? Yes, he has been smiling when in my presence. We've finally admitted to liking and appreciating each other's sense of humour.

Is it possible for him to fake the way he listens? He listens with rapt attention as if I were telling him how to turn lead into gold. He even pays attention when I go over the finer details of my bill that I'm trying to get passed. None of my other friends have been able to keep awake before I finished. Not only does he stay awake, but he asks questions too!

Was it possible for him to fake an interest in Muggle culture? Once we went to the movies. He was enraptured and he talked non-stop about the movies afterward like a child. He keeps bugging me to go out to the cinema again. We talk about books and plays and books and plays that they turned into movies. He's making a long list of movies he has to see with me. I keep putting him off because most of those movies aren't showing in current cinemas and I sure as hell can't bring him to my house to watch it on tape. I can just imagine the disaster that would ensue if Ron or Harry ever came home to find Malfoy snuggling with me on top of the setee and eating popcorn with butter as we watch The Usual Suspects.

He knows me so well now. The other day he surprised me when he met me at my parent's house (I was in for a lot of surprises that night, the first being that my parents were not going to the pub for the Quiz that night, the second being that they really like my new friend, Draco Malfoy – "he's charming," Mum said) and reminded _my mother_ that I didn't like ice-cream with nuts in it. My mother! I shouldn't be surprised. Every now and then my parents have lapses despite the lift of the memory charm. Forgetting the ice-cream is little. Sometimes they forget me…again. It happened once while he was there with them. Just for a few moments they turned to me and looked at me like I was some burglar that had camped out in their kitchen. It hurt. It hurts every time. It only ever lasts a few moments before their brain resets and they go back to looking at me with knowing love in their eyes, but every time it happens it hurts. Malfoy, he gave me such a funny look when it happened, but he did the strangest thing afterward. He held my hand and let me cry on his shoulder afterward when the guilt that I did that to my parents caught up with me, as it does every so often. Not once did he say anything about the tears staining his shirt. He intrigues me.

Do I really know anything about him, though? He generally steers clear from any mention of his wife. Even though he has been quite open on his feelings towards Daphne's striking resemblance to his wife when her hair was dyed black, it's as close as he'll get to actually mentioning her. He still moderates exactly how much he'll let me see his true feelings on the things that matter like his parents, Scorpius and his wife. He has never been as drunk as he was on New Years to have an emotional slip like that again. Do I really know anything about him besides the superficial things like the foods he likes and what wine he favours and how he spent his childhood pre-Hogwarts?

To distract myself I open the white envelope on the table. It's from the Wizengamot and I have to read it over three times to make sure I read it correctly.

Dear Mrs. Weasley,

We, the Wizengamot for the Ministry of Magic in the United Kingdom, write to you following the regrettable conclusion of the final Appeal for Lucius Malfoy on this afternoon, May 25, 2018. In your support for Malfoy's case you have made a series of claims against the members of the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic that is both untrue and pejorative. Your loyalty and commitment towards the Wizengamot's unwavering support for justice and equality seem questionable in light of recent events and behaviour.

As such, we regret to inform you that your position as a member of the Wizengamot would be **suspended without pay** **with the immediate effect** of the posting of this letter.

Further, it should be noted that some members of the Wizengamot are considering their options on the possibility of filing actions against you in defamation, to seek damages and costs and in particular an injunction restraining you from further such false and disparaging statements. We will only refrain from pursuing these remedies if you immediately acknowledge this correspondence with an open letter to us retracting the things you have said and worded in a manner suitable for publication.

Yours respectfully,

Diana Evanovich

Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic

I've been suspended. I sit here staring dead-eyed at the Ministry's latest attempt to get rid of people that do not sufficiently enable their bullshit.

They can't sack me because I've got tenure, but they can get rid of my position entirely, making it non-existent on the Wizengamot. Will that be their next move? I get a flutter in my chest and for a brief moment I wonder if I'm having a heart attack or a stroke. My mind runs on Harry. I haven't gotten any letters or visits or Floo calls from him so I can only suppose that either he was not given a copy of this letter or more than likely he has yet to see it. I suspect that they will wait until the very last moment before they c.c. this letter to him about my job's demise. They know the reaction they will get from him – lots of shouting and lots of bad press. He will not stand for this. As for me, I don't know how to feel about this. I'm numb.

The fireplace lights up and for a brief few moments the entire kitchen is lit green. Strangely, I remember Malfoy telling me that he had found the greenish glow of the Slytherin common room to be quite comforting and the flash of the Floo always reminded him of that. It's the one thing he misses about having his Floo Network open. I turn around, ridiculously and illogically expecting to see Malfoy, but instead it's Ron. I'm quite surprised to see him home this early. It's only minutes to six. I feel oddly disappointed and familiarly guilty.

"You're home early," he tells me and takes a seat opposite me.

"I was about to say the same to you." He gives me a watery smile, but doesn't answer my implied question. Something is wrong. I can tell by the way he's staring at his hands, the table, the walls, at anywhere but me. He sits there quietly for a minute or two. I wait, not bothering to attempt conversation, unable to think up anything anyway that doesn't have to do with my recent suspension. I'm not in the mood to talk about it yet, not when I haven't processed what it all means.

I'm about to open my mouth to ask him if he wants some tea, dinner, anything to break this awkward silence (strange, I remember once when our silences were companionable and not grating) when he decides that he's summed up enough courage to talk.

"I hate my job. I really do. When the war was over and Shacklebolt asked Harry and me to become Aurors, I remember clearly thinking that he's asking me because I was in the same room and he didn't want to seem rude. It's like when you really fancy a girl and you want to invite her over for tea at your house, but her stupid git of a best friend is there so you have to ask him over too."

I take a sip of my tea to hide my what-the-heck-is-he-on-about expression as I rack my brain to remember if any situation like that ever occurred in our friendship with Harry.

"I'm convinced that's how Rose ended up asking Malfoy to our house for Boxing Day. She didn't want to be rude to him. Sometimes I wish we weren't such good parents. We should have brought her up to be a completely rude bitch every now and then. You know, let her channel her inner Pansy Parkinson."

I chuckle knowingly because Malfoy has told me that while Pansy is still a bitch, her devotion to her daughters is unrivalled. "Okay, Father of the Year, bring it back to the point."

"Right. You and Harry love your jobs and you have every right to. Great and memorable, satisfying moments happen in your careers. You single-handedly stopped elf slavery. You're amazing. You are an amazing person. You could be lying to the Wizengamot or robbing old witches or kicking baby owls in the face and you'd still be awesome because I know that you'd be doing it for the good of someone else, for the greater good."

I slowly put down my teacup. Does he know what happened? He continues, oblivious to my look of discomfort and anxiety understandably since he's still looking at the skillet on the stove as if he's talking to it instead. Also, should I question the fact that he thinks I'm amazing enough to rob old witches and get away with it?

"And well, Harry is Harry. Nuff said. I don't need to say how amazing he is. It's in the history books. Me? I don't have memorable, satisfying career highs. For instance, today I got called out on a case and there was an exploding toilet. Let's not go into the details, but I couldn't hear for shit after. Sorry about the pun. I get back to the Ministry and do you know who I run into? I literally ran into them because the explosion damaged my inner ear so walking was more like a series of barely-missed falls –"

"Oh my God, Ron! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine now, but at the time, no. Anyway, coming out of the lift I run into Mimi. You know Mimi, the Veela actress who did that play – I can't remember the name – but she has no last name?"

I nod. I dislike that woman. She and this chair I'm sitting on have similar acting styles – wooden, that is.

"She's a great actress. She recognized me. She stopped and said something. I couldn't hear her properly, so I responded appropriately. I said, 'WHAT?' And that was it. That was my career highlight."

"Ron, I'm sure –"

He barrels over me. "I think she said that she enjoyed my column last week. I read her lips and that's what it looked like. She didn't say 'thanks for nabbing those kids who're on with that exploding toilets shit again.' Sorry about the pun. But no, she talked about my column. And _that_ was _my_ career highlight, 'Mione. What I'm good at is writing funny stories about Quidditch. I suck as an Auror."

"Ron –"

"I quit my job, Hermione. I'm still part-time at the paper, but it's what I want."

He finally looks me in the eye and I feel like I just got punched in the gut. That's because I take care of the bills around here and at any moment I can bring up mentally our financial position. We're only now building back up our savings because we recently bought and refurbished this house. The mortgage is obscene because we don't live in a magical community, but slightly apart from a Muggle village. Everything will now fall on me. Ron's pathetic pittance from that job will never be enough. My hands start to shake on the scrubbed granite kitchen table. Why on earth would we need a granite kitchen table?

"I know that you're mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Really, because you have a sort of pissy half-smile that's worse than if you were frowning and shouting."

"I'm not angry. It's just that…" I glance down at the imposing letter of professional doom, heavy on the table.

"Look, I'm finally doing something for myself."

I stare at him in disbelief. I'm mercifully saved from tears by a rush of anger. "You're finally doing something for yourself? You could never be serious."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"For almost a year you've checked out of our marriage. You don't even kiss me anymore. I barely see you. You say you're searching for clarity. You have me making two dinners – one for me and the kids and a vegetarian one for you. You've given up drinking. You've given up meat. You've given up sex it seems. You've given up conversing with me. You tell me that you're searching for something, some kind of meaning to your life, you say. You're having a mid-life crisis, Ron and it leaves me with no way to approach you. You're blameless in all this. I'm supposed to be the supportive wife. If I don't, I'll be the shrew wife that won't stand by her man."

"I'm not having a mid-life crisis. _You've_ been having a crisis, clearly what with you suddenly taking up Lucius Malfoy's case. Do you know what I've been through because of you? The Minister asked Harry, not me because of conflict of interest or some shit like that, to investigate you to see if you've had Death Eater dealings, if you've been supporting Death Eater ideology."

I stare at him in open-mouthed shock. Harry's been investigating me? My face flushes as my mind races to all those Friday evenings I've been spending with Malfoy. I wait for Ron to say something about it.

"You show more interest in Lucius Malfoy than your own husband. Harry and I have to defend you to Ginny and Mum. I have to constantly say that no, my wife has not lost her mind. I have to stand by you as you do shit like this. You don't even talk this over with me."

"When the Prophet ran those stories about how I was slowly declining into senility, you patted my shoulder – my shoulder! – said nothing then went to work at the bloody Prophet. We haven't talked things over in quite a while, Ron. And to be honest, I don't think I want to now."

"Why not?"

"Because . . ." I sigh loudly and I feel like it's dragged up from the depths of some far reaching place. I feel tired and I barely mutter, "…because I just don't care anymore."

He stares at me for a while, his expression just as tired as mine.

"Are you with Padma?"

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "I'm not with Padma. I'm not with anyone."

"You're with me." I quietly remind him.

"It doesn't feel that way." He reminds me.

"I know what you mean." I say quietly.

We sit there for a few uncomfortable moments before he gets up and goes upstairs for a while. I rest my head on the table, feeling sick and woozy. I think I called something onto myself from my earlier lie to Malfoy. After a while I hear Ron come downstairs, his heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors – expensive hardwood! – as he enters the kitchen. I don't lift my head.

"I'll be at Mum's for the time being." My head snaps up at this and I see that he has a little duffle bag in his hands. He gives me one last look, probably wondering if I'll ask him to stay. I wait for him to say that he'll stay. We both say nothing and he turns. He stops at the door and says with his back to me,

"I did try to kiss you the other day, but you pushed me away."

I have nothing to say to that. I don't know what to say to that.

I hear the crack when he disapparates and I'm reminded of our year on the run during the war when he left. I don't have the same reaction. I don't run after him crying and broken up over the fact that I might never see him again and that all the time spent together may be over. The sad thing is that he's gone and all I think is, 'well, that's one less thing I have to think about.'

I get up from the table and go upstairs to the bedroom and drop on the bed like a stone. I feel strange like I'm waiting to get up from a dream, like I'd walk downstairs and see that it's really day time and that everything that happened in the last few hours was a horrible dream. I eventually fall asleep, but it's fitful because I keep expecting Harry to come and tell me off about not trying with Ron or about how he feels indignant rage that I was suspended or worse…that he knows about my meetings with Malfoy. Why hasn't he said anything? In my dreams I keep repeating the argument with Ron and the children end up blaming me. The children! What am I going to tell them? I wake up groggily after a couple of hours that leave me more tired than before. I hear a knocking on the door, but I know that Harry will never knock. He has access to my Floo Network. He'd make his presence known by shouting up the stairs for me. I go downstairs still half-asleep and feeling like crap. I open the door and it's Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?"

He eyes me up and down, taking in the dishevelled hair, the oversized grey sweatshirt, the black leggings and the imprint of the pillow across my cheek. "My word, you look really horrible. I can see the sickness all in your face."

Now I know that I'm not actually sick, so his statement slightly stings.

"I'm here to make you feel better." He smiles saucily at me and I narrow my eyes at him in annoyance. With a wave of his wand a small basket appears to float between us and I cannot hide my surprise. "What? You thought that _I_ was going to make you feel better? Oh Granger, I'm not _that_ kind of night nurse…unless, do you want me to tuck you in?"

And we're back. I roll my eyes at him and he laughs. I take the basket and he steps inside without an invitation.

"You can't stay, Malfoy." I say even as I'm closing the door behind him and I peer through what he's brought for me. He stands in the hall and eyes me with the excited look of someone who knows they bought a good gift and is awaiting the inevitable gratitude.

The basket is full of vials of Pepper-Up, fruit, a really expensive-looking golden cashmere shawl and classic books by famous wizards and witches. I hear a slight humming and when I peer further I see that there's a blue Puffskein furball staring up at me with these huge black, deliquescing eyes. I scoop him up into my hand and he hums contentedly.

"Aww. He's soooo cute."

"Oh Granger, you'll make me blush."

"I was talking about the Puffskein."

"Right,"

"You'd be as good-looking as this little Puffskein too if you got rid of that creepy, flesh-coloured beard you've been sporting."

"But then what would I have to keep me warm at night?"

"You're a wizard, cast a warming charm."

"Nothing beats the warmth of a good woman."

I look at him and he gives me an odd expression, almost yearning. It's fleeting, but it makes me blush a bit. We stand there staring at each other with dangerous, unsaid words between us. Finally, he clears his throat and says,

"You're welcome, you know."

"Oh right, thank you." I feel horrible that he went through all this trouble when I'm not even sick. Then the reason that I lied to him in the first place comes back to me and my expression shifts to look shrewder. He notices.

"Are you alright? Are you feeling ill now? Do you want to throw up?" He takes me by the arm and leads me to my own living room and plants me on the sofa. I'm amazed by his consideration. He takes the shawl out of the basket and wraps it around me while I pet the Puffskein with absent shock at his sincerity.

"Are you going to vomit? Should I conjure a basin?" He asks as he sits next to me and rubs my back – he's rubbing my back! – in soothing circles.

He stops for a second to take in my living room; his eyes resting on all the towers and bookcases of books; artefacts from mine and Ron's careers displayed all over the place.

"I really, really hope that you're a scheming mass murderer to compensate for all this bookishness."

I snap to my senses.

"Malfoy," I turn to face him, so he's forced to stop rubbing my back. I was feeling too comfortable with his touch and _that_ had me feeling uncomfortable. "Why are you really here?"

"You told me that you were ill, so I came here to help you out. It's Friday and I know that Weasley usually works late on a Friday. I didn't want you to be alone. I was trying to be considerate." He's speaking really slowly, but this isn't the slow drawl that he uses when he's joking. No, this is an I'm-giving-you-enough-time-to-change-your-tone-with-me drawl. This however, is not something that I'm going to back down from, not with the mood that I'm in right now.

"My daughter is very close to Scorpius, as you know. I suppose it's because the two of them are similar in some respects and they're similar to you and me – they don't seem to have a high tolerance for nonsense."

"Where are you going with this, Granger?"

"They suspect that we've gotten closer over these last few months."

"There's nothing wrong with that. I'm keeping a low profile with you to save your reputation."

"To save my reputation or to save yours?"

"I beg your pardon,"

"I know that Blaise Zabini told you to take an interest in a friendship with me, so that I'd be willing to work on this appeal for your father."

He narrows his eyes at me and his lips thin into a line of annoyance. I know the look well. He's looked at me that way for seven years at school, but back then the look had more disgust in it. The disgust is gone from him these days, judging by how right now our knees are touching on the sofa and he's making no effort to pull away his leg. Also, he's on my sofa.

"Need I remind you that _you're_ the one that came to me? _You_ offered to do the appeal. _You_ offered to become friends with me! _You're_ the one that's running down a friendship with me, not the other way around!"

His words feel like a slap to the face.

"So you wouldn't leave now if I told you that I lost your father's appeal this morning?" His jaw tightens as he looks down at his shoes; his body is still. "Would you leave now if I told you that I can't even help to pass the bill because I've been suspended? Your father will be executed and I can no longer help you. I have nothing else to offer you, so you can stop trying so hard." He looks up and just sits there staring at me. "I think you should leave." He still sits there waiting for me to change my mind and my thoughts instantly bring up Ron, telling me that he's finally doing something for himself and waiting for me to tell him stay. My anger increases like a sudden surge in electricity, suddenly and strongly. "Get out of my house. Get the hell out of my house!"

He rises suddenly and sneers at me. For the first time since I've begun to see him on a regular basis I get a glimpse of the Malfoy that I used to know. He could burn me to ashes with his gaze right now. He's positively scowling at me.

"I came over here, Granger out of the goodness of my heart. I thought that you were ill and I rushed over here thinking of you only. I even got you that bloody care basket." He walks over to the entryway to the hall where he pauses. "I didn't know that my father lost his appeal. Thank you for being so sensitive on the topic." He turns to face me, so that I can see his face clearly, and says with acid-like spite,

"Fuck you."

He pauses for about a second, possibly wondering if I'll ask him to stay, but more likely allowing his expression of pure disgust to be the last thing I remember before he walks out of the hall.

It's so strange. It's strange because when I was sitting here with him, I was getting angrier and angrier by the second. It's only now that I realize that I was taking out a lot of anger that stemmed from Ron and the Wizengamot on him. When the door slams I'm forcibly reminded of the grave mistake I just made and I bolt from the couch to run after him.

I pull the door open with such force that I'm mildly surprised when it doesn't come off in my hand. I can see his retreating form almost to the edge of the apparition point.

"Malfoy! Draco!"

He doesn't stop. He disappears with a loud crack and a stomach-churning regret grips me. I close back the door and shame descends on me, not just from the way I treated Malfoy just then, but I realize that this is how I should have reacted when my husband walked out on me, not Malfoy. I _know_ why I reacted that way, I'm not stupid. I can't even help it this time and I start to cry.

* * *

**A/N**: So this was originally a very long chapter, but I cut it in half for you guys. See, I'm thinking of you all, yet you guys hardly review (except for my one loyal reader - you know who you are) to let me know if you appreciate anything in these chapters. :( *le sigh* Part two will be up tomorrow regardless.


	12. Chapter Seven: Hermione Part Two

**Chapter Seven: Hermione Part Two**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

* * *

I wake up around half-three. The bedroom is dark and it takes me less than three seconds to be fully awake. The war may be over, but some things stay with you. There's a scratching at the window and I see that it's an owl, a common brown Barn owl. I get up, open the window and the creature shakes his wet feathers all over me. Unfortunately, I haven't been charmed waterproof like this letter. On the outside is a seal and return address. It's from a pub.

To whom it may concern,

We have in our possession a very drunk Draco Malfoy. We have confiscated his wand because he is too drunk to sit upright on a stool, let alone apparate, Floo or sit on a broomstick. The Knight Bus has also refused him admittance. Please be so kind as to claim him at the return address on the envelope. Last call is at four a.m. If you arrive later than that he sleeps outside and he can collect his wand when the pub opens later in the day. It should be noted that he has on very expensive clothes that he's not likely to still be wearing if he sleeps outside in this neighbourhood.

Graciously,

Peter Beluski

Proprietor of The Eighth Dwarf

Bloody Malfoy!

I don't even think about it. I run downstairs and with a flick of a wand my black travelling cloak comes to me, conforming to my body as I stretch my hands out to be dressed. I step into the kitchen fireplace, but it's only after I'm spinning away that I realize I'm couldn't be more thrilled at this opportunity to set things right with Malfoy. Don't worry, I still feel bad about not feeling worse for my failing marriage. I'm going to blame my lack of response on shock or something like it.

The bar is seedy. Of course. Those Death Eaters sure know how to pick 'em. I pull the hood of my cloak over my head, making sure that it nearly conceals my face entirely. I must look like a Nazgûl from those Lord of the Rings movies. My sudden presence at this bar invites mild curiosity to open hostility.

Guilt sure is a hell of a thing. What the hell am I really doing here?

I spot him at the bar, defying physics laws as most of his weight is precariously positioned on the edge of the bar stool, while some blonde witch is chatting his ear off. I want to tell her that he doesn't even like blondes. He looks to be in a state somewhere between awake and coma. She is sipping on a blue-tinted liquid that has smoke steaming from the glass. She is at least seven months pregnant or very, very fat.

"Malfoy,"

He looks up at me, his companion too and she introduces herself by way of, "What the fuck you looking at?"

I put a silencing charm on her and then take away her wand which I hand over to the bartender. He gives me back Malfoy's wand. The witch tries to fight me so I incapacitate her mid-strike with an Immobulus charm. I also vanish her drink.

"Granger, you came! I knew it was you." He says as he dips his head to peer under the hood of my cloak. "Wherever you are, fun stops."

I almost turn right back around, but I suppose it's the guilt that stops me.

"Why did you pick the worst bar that you can find?"

"Welcome to the life of a Death Eater, my dear. These are the only fine establishments that welcome the likes of us."

I feel a pang of pity for him. He socializes outside of the Wizarding UK society not just by choice, but by force as well.

"This drink tastes like acid and iron. As a matter of fact, I think that's exactly what happened. Someone melted a steel beam in a bottle of acid. I can still taste the grit. I think it was brewed specifically to accompany regret. Want some?" He slurs.

"Right. Come on, let's get you home." He slides off the stool and I have to brace his weight; his heavy arm around my shoulders as I lead him outside.

"Yes, take me home." He slurs. "Home is where the heart is . . . so, I guess that means home is with you." He looks up at me and smiles, staring at me intensely, and though I know he's only staring at me like that because he's trying to focus his balance, my stomach plummets with iron butterflies. I don't bother to answer him, only apparating us to Malfoy Manor's front gates.

We get to the gates in one piece. I give him his wand and the gates disintegrate for us. We walk up the airstrip-long walkway and I realize that I've encountered a problem. I have no interest in going inside of this house. Would it really be so bad for me to leave him on his front steps?

"This way, Granger. I don't step into the living room anymore. We must use the side entrance."

He staggers away from me singing loudly (why do all drunks think they can sing is beyond me) and nearly careens into a hedge. I rush to steer him clear and he does a bastardized moonwalk all the way to the side entrance of his house. I feel ridiculous stalking around Malfoy's yard at near four in the morning like the housewife version of James Bond. I only now realize that I'm still wearing my fluffy, purple bedroom slippers.

With a wave of his wand the door opens with a bang and I'm worried that the next time he uses his wand there might be a fire to put out. We're in some sort of breakfast room that has a Victorian creepiness to the décor.

"Malfoy? How about we take it easy on the magic for the time being?"

"I can apparate to my room, darling."

Oh boy. One quick Expelliarmus charm solves that problem, but creates another. "Gimme my wand back."

"I really think that you ought to go up these stairs without me having to worry that you'll leave your legs behind. Also, even if you could apparate, you've anti-apparation charms on your estate."

He doesn't want to hear that. All the time he could barely stand upright like some Cro-Magnon man and now, now I suppose he channels his inner drunken master and he's quick and wily. In no time at all he has my hands pinned over my head and with his body pushed up against mine. Oddly, his breath smells not like alcohol, but minty. I'm confused by this, but then my brain reminds me that _this_ is the last thing I should be worried about. Once again, I am captive in Malfoy Manor. My mind reels as Bellatrix Lestrange returns in horrid flashbacks. He looks at me intensely, noting the horror on my face.

"Granger, come back to me." He whispers, but I'm still struggling to get my breathing under control. "Granger!" He snaps and his voice brings me back to reality.

"Granger, why did you come get me?"

I stare at him. "What?"

"Focus. I said, why did you come get me? We're still speaking English, right?"

I know the reason why, but I can't bring myself to say it out loud, let alone admit it to him. And especially not now when he's being such a git.

"You have a house elf. Why did _you_ summon me?"

"Because of you, house elves can't work twenty-four hours anymore, remember. But you didn't have to come. Why did you come?"

"Like you said, I'm self-righteous. I didn't want you to be mugged and left naked in front of that pub. I have an overactive conscience. Do you know what that is? A conscience?"

"I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me. I'm the youngest Death Eater. Ever! The world simultaneously fears and hates me." He snorts out a dry laugh. "My wife, she . . ."

I don't say a word. I don't even breathe too hard. His eyes are glazed and he suddenly rests his head between the crook of my neck and shoulders, breathing hard. I can feel his lips against my skin. I have to strain to hear him and his heavy, slurred words.

"I'm alone all the time, you know. It's unbearable, agonizing and painful because I know that no matter what I do, I will do it in solitude. I was dying a little more every day, cringing whenever something reminded me of the past, of Astoria, which of course happened every moment. She died because of me, you know. I'm the reason she's dead. Then…then I started to talk to you.

"I've learnt to survive in loneliness, maybe even embrace being ostracized. I've become more and more comfortable spending entire days without speaking to anyone. But then you came along and you got me so angry sometimes. And I love it. I love that I can be angry around you. I have to watch my words with Scorpius. My mother, Blaise and Pansy expect me to be a good Slytherin and get over this…this grief, this unhappiness by now. But sometimes you'd make a joke, Granger and I am amazed by the miracle that you can make me laugh.

"I used to see Astoria in this house. She was haunting it!" He looks up at me, his eyes crazed and wild. "She would always look the same way – wet and covered in blood. But now, now I don't see her anymore. I only dream her. For the first time since her death I dream beyond the night of her suicide to the times when we were young and happy together. I dream of her on a winter afternoon, wind pressing her robes against her. I dream of her heavily pregnant with Scorpius and then with our second child. I dream of parties with her, of when I first met her in Venice. I dream all these things and I realize that there's an absence of grief and that in itself is causing guilt. It's as though by dreaming of her alive instead of dying that I'm reminding myself of the hardest truth: life goes on, however careless and cruel that may seem. And I feel that way because of you."

My knees feel weak.

"I value you, Granger. Our friendship…"

My heart plummets in disappointment? Shame? I don't know. I feel uncomfortable with the emotions that he has stirred within me.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you away. It's just . . . I don't want you to hurt me." I barely mumble and try to push back that conscience of mine that is telling me I should be saying these things to Ron. He finally slackens his grip on my hands and leans all of his weight against me. "Malfoy? Malfoy?"

The little pointy-faced prat fell asleep!

"Malfoy!"

He snaps up, his mouth hanging open most unattractively. He is wide awake drunk.

Sometimes I really, really dislike him.

"Let's get you to your room. Lead the way. I'll make sure you don't fall down the steps and break your neck…though that would make things easier for everyone involved." He shuffles off to the steps like an extra in the Night of the Living Dead. I have to help him up the steps since in his alcohol soaked mind each step is at least a half-foot higher than it should be.

His bedroom is a lot smaller than I think it should be and I suspect that he has locked off the bedroom that he shared with Astoria and moved into this one. His bedside table is stacked with books on potions and their potential in liberal eugenics, memory modification, time travelling theories and paradigm shifts. I remember that he discovered a cure for Spattergroit. There's no doubt that there would have been a building in his name, chocolate frog cards with his picture on it, glorified forever…if he was not who he was.

"Do you want me to take off your shoes?" I ask him as he pushes his dead weight onto the bed.

"No," He kicks off his shoes and lies back with the rest of his clothes on, heavy black cloak included. With his eyes closed he tells me, "Don't leave. Come lie next to me."

"I can't or rather I shouldn't."

Ron and I may be on tentative terms at the moment, but as far as I'm concerned I'm still a married woman. Besides, who knows what will happen when I get into that bed. I can deny it no longer. I know the reason that I'm here, the reason that I ran after him, the reason that I have this constant companion of guilt – I have very strong feelings for him, dangerous feelings that a married woman like myself should not be having.

"That's too bad. It would have been nice to know that when I wake in the morning with a hangover from hell, that you would have been there, even if it was to laugh at me. Mother can't stand the memories, so she moved to France. Astoria is dead. My son refuses to speak to me. Father will soon be dead as well. The most heartbreaking moments in life will always be the moments when you have no one there to share the worst and best times with you."

Well melt my heart, Draco Malfoy! The full force of Ron leaving hits me in that moment and a fear grips me. I start to hyperventilate which is only a prelude to the tears that fall hot and furious on my face. Malfoy chooses that moment to open his eyes.

"Granger, Granger. Why are you crying? Come over here."

I step back even further from him, not that he made any effort to come nearer to me. His body is heavy with alcohol. He still has his voice, though.

"Hush, hush. Why are you crying?"

"Ron's left me and I took it out on you. I've been suspended from my job _without pay_. I've suddenly found myself up to my neck in financial debt. The entire Weasley family thinks I'm an insensitive bitch for supporting Lucius' case and I'm feeling things for you that I shouldn't. I'm so…I'm so…fed up!"

Snot is running down my nose and I wipe it away with the sleeve of my coat. This is embarrassing. The only good thing is that he may be too drunk to remember this.

"Come lie next to me. I'm too drunk to put one foot in front of the other, so I doubt that I could touch you indecently. I might more likely fall asleep with my fingers inside you and that's not as nice as it sounds. Come on,"

And, ignoring his passive confession about his sexual capabilities at the moment, I do as he says. I lie next to him, sniffling like a child and with my conscience shrieking in my ears that this is wrong. But I don't care as he put his arms around me and we fall asleep with him absently stroking my hair.

* * *

When I wake later in the morning I can see sunlight struggling to get past the heavy drapes. Malfoy is lying flat on his back with me draped halfway over him. My first thought is that he could have thrown up in his sleep and choked on his sick. I rise off of him to push him to his side, but his fingers are tangled in my hair. I quickly remove his hand because if he wakes now I'll never hear the end of how my bramble-like hair nearly ate his hand. He mumbles at the disruption, but otherwise doesn't protest too much when I turn him to his side. I take off my cloak, suddenly feeling quite warm. The room is stuffy with the heat wave that is still plaguing England. Even my sweatshirt is living up to the name. I cast a cooling charm around the room and head outside with the cloak in my hand. When I shut the door close and am walking down the stairs I see a house-elf eyeing me with heavy, judgemental eyes.

"_Mrs_. Weasley,"

There are walks of shame and then there are walks of shame!

I want to run out of the house, but my mind runs on Malfoy and the things he said to me last night or rather this morning, about being lonely and having someone to share his best and worst times with. I smile at the house elf.

"Where's the kitchen?" I can tell that he wasn't expecting that question.

A series of sharp turns leads me to the basement kitchen. Everything in this house is dark! There's barely any light coming through the windows. Malfoy, on the surface, looks like he should be in a house that would not be out of place in a Dracula novel, but I know that he's so much more than that. Why on earth does he continue to stay in this house? When I walk down the corridors I half expect to see actual pictures of the devil harvesting souls. I come close enough when I see a portrait of Bellatrix Lestrange on her wedding day. I hope Satan is steaming her arse.

Malfoy compartmentalizes his feelings as well as his memories. He's living here based on the childhood he had, not the morbid, criminal manhood he was forced into at this house.

I decide to make breakfast for him. The elf barely hides his scathing looks of contempt.

"Nothing happened, you know." I tell him as I look around for eggs. He refuses to help me so I spend a good ten to fifteen minutes searching out ingredients before I remember the Accio charm. The elf is looking at me like I'm the magical equivalent of a hunched-over caveman rubbing two sticks together to make fire. There are some suspicious-looking vials of liquids that I know is not seasoning of any kind. They are in a locked cabinet near the stove. Why is everything here so sinister-looking?

"Did Mistress find everything?"

"Don't call me that!" I whisper fiercely at him as eggs crack into a bowl. "I'm not the mistress of this house." He mutters something, eyeing me up and down as I have the knife chop some peppers to go into the omelette.

"Listen, I am a married woman who would ne–"

"Is Mr. Weasley upstairs then?"

My cheeks colour red. I want to dig a hole with my bare hands past the stone floor and go hide there forever. I take a deep breath and remind myself that the elf is simply concerned for his master. We fall into an uneasy silence for the next ten minutes. I can feel his eyes all over me as I make pancakes. I decide to make conversation.

"Since you're calling me mistress, what are in those vials?"

"You mistake my meaning, Mistress. I meant mistress in the other context."

The impertinence!

"So this is where you got off to."

I look up and there's Malfoy standing at the door, saving me from losing my patience. At some point in time he got out of his clothes and now he's only wearing what looks like navy blue pyjama bottoms, an eye-searing (for him) pale blue jersey and slippers. I have never seen him this casually dressed. His hair is a mess. He looks extraordinarily attractive and instantly I regret my decision to stay.

"Master, would you prefer tea, coffee, juice or water, sir?" The house elf asks him.

"A soda water," He stumbles over to the long, rectangular kitchen table and plops himself down; one hand propping up his head. With his eyes half open he says to me,

"Why did you leave my bed?"

He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

The house elf gives a haughty clearing of the throat when he puts the glass of club soda in front of his Master.

"No woman have ever stepped foot in this kitchen. I don't even think Astoria knew where it was. Crabby here must like you." I look over at the house elf. He's giving me a look of deepest hatred. I turn to tell Malfoy that I seriously doubt it, when I notice that his arms are bare and I can see the Dark Mark on his arm for the first time.

His arm is heavily scarred and I suspect that it's because he's tried ways of removing it over the years. The skin there puckers and is darker in some spots, lighter in others, but the mark is still clearly visible. He catches me staring and with one look from him Crabby knows to vacate the kitchen. I wish that I could do the same, but I suspect we have some talking to do.

"Now you've seen the true me." He says after a while.

"I don't think so. About your father…"

"Don't,"

"No, I want you to know that I really, really tried."

"I know you did and I appreciate it, not just that you tried, but I appreciate you trying your best."

"I don't know what to tell you. I feel like I failed…like I failed you."

"We've come a long way if you care about me so much."

I care too much, I don't say. "I'm sorry." I say again because what else can you tell someone in a situation like his?

"Hmm. With all the time he's spent suffering, I suppose it'll be like a mercy killing."

"I don't believe in that."

He gives me a shrewd look and huffs out a quiet laugh. "Of course you don't."

"I'm sorry about last night. I was unsure about…you. I said things that were uncalled for. I'm just…sorry."

"You're always looking for the worst in me, aren't you?" His tone is resigned, not accusatory. I feel horrible because he's right.

"Do you remember what you said to me last night?"

"If it's incriminating, then I don't."

I give him a weak smile before I tentatively bring up the things he's said. "What do you mean when you said that you dreamt of Astoria being pregnant with Scorpius and then with your second child? Do you have another son? You told me that you're the reason she'd dead. What happened to your wife, Malfoy?"

"What do you mean that Weasley left you? What do you mean when you say that you have feelings for me that you shouldn't be having?"

We seem to have reached an impasse.

"I should go."

I move to walk past him, but he grabs my hand, pulling me back until he can rest his forehead against my arm. He pulls me down and comes very close to my face. He wants to kiss me and for a few eternal seconds we simply pause like that. Sense prevails however, and I pull back a bit. He pulls me back in with his other hand until our foreheads are touching.

"I can't be here...like this with you..."

"Just…just wait awhile. In due time, alright? In due time. Let's just have breakfast and pretend just for a little while that there's nothing hidden between us; that we don't have the world of problems to get back to once we leave this kitchen. I just want…to…to be with you for a little while. I don't want to be alone right now. Let's pretend everything is as it should be and not how it is."

My failing marriage, his father's impending execution, his son's hatred for him, his questionable past, the growing attraction between us…

I don't know why I agree, but I do. I go back to cooking and he sits silently sipping on his club soda. When I put the plate of eggs, bacon, pancakes and toast in front of him he looks up at me and says,

"So, did you comb your hair with a lightning bolt this morning?"

Unexpectedly, I laugh. The most unexpected things happen with him.

"You are such a fool, Malfoy." I know that this is our dysfunctional version of flirting, but right now with me sitting in his kitchen discussing the merits of eggs as the best hangover medicine, everything feels so…right. Of course this would be much better if I was having this breakfast ANYWHERE else but in this torture-driven house of unbridled horrors, but it's not so bad because I'm in here with him. And _that_ thought nearly floors me – Draco Malfoy is making me happy.

* * *

When I finally get home it's near half-eleven. I can hear someone tinkering in the kitchen and I wonder if Ron's come home and what does that even mean.

It's Harry. He's dressed casually in jeans and tee-shirt and he's sitting at the kitchen table reading the papers with my opened letter from the Wizengamot still right there on the table. I assume that he's read it. He gives me a tight smile.

"Hey,"

"Hey. You heard from Ron?"

"Yeah, I heard what happened." He doesn't seem to have any further comments on the matter. "You went out early."

"Yeah, I just…went for a walk…"

"To Malfoy's?" He says it so casually and I feel like someone kicked me in the chest. He looks up at me and I can't lie to him. I feel ashamed for my recent behaviour. I sit at the table feeling absolutely tired.

"I…" I don't even know what I was going to say.

"Are you having an affair with him?"

"What?! No!" It's the one thing I can say definitely.

"…so you're going to divorce Ron, then?"

I have no idea what to say to that. It's something that I know could happen, but I've denied it for so long that I'm actually surprised when he says it.

"Harry, I…" I'm suddenly unable to make complete sentences and I find myself crying hard, the kind of racking tears that make it hard to catch your breath. He pulls me into a hug that's awkward because of how we're sitting. He doesn't say anything. He never did when it came to the rows between Ron and me. I suspect it's because he never wanted to choose sides when the inevitable end would come. The end is here. I bet he saw it coming a mile away, yet I'm blindsided.

"I know how it is," is all he says and I wonder what he means by that. What does he know about these kind of feelings? He's been in so many impossible situations, but what does he know about this?

"Do you love him?" I look up at him and nod emphatically, honestly. "Ron, that is," he clarifies and in that one horrible moment we realize the extent of my predicament.

I know that he's upset, but he only continues to comfort me; his anger and disappointment in me knowing no words. I have never felt so disappointed in myself. Of all the times that I have failed as a mother, a wife, a friend, I have never felt this low. Yet, my problem does not really lie with that revelation. I'm thoroughly distraught over the fact that I know I can never be with Draco. Off the top of my head, I can count at least ten reasons why I shouldn't be with him. I can barely wrap my head around the surrealism of the situation. I'm in love with Draco Malfoy! Of all the people in the world! But nothing, not even my brain, is accepting of that union. The only thing that accepts us together is my heart.

* * *

**A/N**: To all of the guests that reviewed: Thank you! To that one guest that squinted and saw something more: Yes, you are seeing correctly. Up next: Malfoy. Tell me what you think of this chapter, folks. Your reviews motivate me.


	13. Chapter Eight: Malfoy

**Chapter Eight: Malfoy **

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: I decided not to cut the chapter in half. I couldn't find a good cut-off point. Also, don't forget in this story the Dementor's Kiss is equivalent to Capital Punishment. Thus, after the Kiss the person is brain dead and can therefore be terminated at the choice of the person who is to receive the Kiss (obviously that choice is made before the person gets the Kiss, that is ;p).

* * *

Regret is digging a hole into my heart. I should have spoken to my Father more. I should have visited him more. I should have been a better Death Eater. I _shouldn't_ have been a Death Eater. I should have been more ambitious. I didn't help him enough. I should have been more cunning, fought harder against the Wizengamot. I should have befriended the Minister for Magic, the entire Wizengamot if necessary and not just Hermione Granger.

Hermione. I don't remember ever calling her by her first name, yet I can tell someone things about her that her own husband doesn't even know, like the fact that she never wanted to change her last name.

"Draco, what are you looking at?"

I turn around from my position at the edge of the terrace that juts out to the side garden and see Mother standing at the door. She's moved back into the house for the time being until Father's execution. It's been agony waiting and sometimes I horrifically wish that they'd just get it over with, and sometimes I wish that I still had more time.

Mother's trying her best to keep up her appearances, but she's steadily failing because her face is sagging like a sack of flour and her eyes are dull like coal. She's wearing pale grey robes that make her look sepulchral in the fading light of the rainy evening. She comes out onto the terrace and takes a seat on one of the wicker chairs and nods for me to join her.

"What were you looking at?"

"I was only looking out, thinking. Something scattered the faeries and I meant to investigate, but my mind was far." I take a seat.

"Your father has accepted his fate." She says after a few moments.

"I should have tried harder to save him. I was thinking that I should have befriended the Minister and not Granger, though he would not have been as easy on the eyes." I huff out a laugh, but she only watches me curiously after my extemporaneous comment. I avert my eyes and a steady and calm silence sits in with us as we listen to the crickets and look out at the darkening sky. "I have failed him again. It seems the one thing that I am successful at – failing."

"At least you tried and that matters."

"That's what Granger tells me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She's been suspended from her job because of this, you know. I asked her if she wanted to help me break Father out of jail. It's been done before! She managed to convince me that if the Dementors don't get me, Potter will."

"Well, at least you won't be dying in a hailstorm of hexes this week, but there's always next week, darling."

I laugh unexpectedly and she smiles at me briefly. For a moment I get a glimpse of the person that she used to be before Father went to jail.

"She tried very hard, Mother."

"You know son, I'd say that I'm getting a subtle vibe that you fancy Mrs. Weasley, but it's not so much a subtle vibe as it's skywriting with fireworks accompaniment."

I look up at her and she's looking at me shrewdly. I can't hide anything from her. I briefly consider lying, but I know that she'll find some other way of discovering the truth from me even if she has to tie to me the bed and force feed me Veritaserum. She's done it before.

"I haven't seen her since the appeal was denied," She gives me a raised eyebrow of disbelief, "but we do correspond." That is the entire truth. Ever since that morning at my house where. . . I don't know exactly what transpired between us, but I know that _something_ very nearly happened and it has made Granger weary. She's been avoiding me, so I haven't seen her in about two months, but she still responds to my letters, just not my requests to meet. At first this did not depress me. I simply saw it as a lead-up, a delayed climax; if nothing happened it simply meant that I still had something to look forward to. By the second month my mood changed. I hadn't seen in her two months and that was because I'd probably never see her again.

"What do you talk about?"

"New discoveries in potion making, things happening in the Ministry, politics, books, plays, the children." The ridiculous excuses she comes up with to avoid seeing me: I have to fix my hair…my hairdresser's in Greenland, she told me one time. Yeah right.

"The children?"

"Scorpius and her daughter seem to be on the outs for the time being, which means he's also on the outs with Potter's son. However, he has apparently a newfound friend in Lily Potter, so they all still see each other one way or the other and it's making for interesting dynamics at Potter's house this summer." I don't tell Mother that my affection towards Hugo and Rose, and by extension Albus, has increased (or more appropriately come into being because I didn't care about him too much before) simply because they are Granger's children and nephew. Well, I always had a soft spot for Rose.

"Maybe, my darling grandson has fallen in love with Potter's daughter. Who knows, in future years we might be related to the Potters."

"Oh Merlin no, don't even fucking joke about that."

The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I said and I inwardly shrink from a reprimand about cursing in her presence. I'm _not_ expecting her to laugh out loud. She throws her head back and laugh and I can't remember the last time my mother did that. I watch her enthralled. She sobers up all too soon and eyes me with a wry smirk like she's in on some joke I don't know.

"I don't think you have to worry about Scorpius marrying that Potter girl."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask her slowly, while I feel a nervous twitch in my chest for her reply. She looks at me slyly for a moment before she calls for Crabby and gives him instructions to mix a drink for her. He disappears and comes back with a frothy pink drink that must be drunk with a shot of firewhiskey.

"This is how the French do it," she says after she downs the shot. The French – everything is done in style. She thinks I've forgotten about her cryptic look regarding Scorpius, but when I lean in for my attack she attacks with a question of her own,

"That's all that you and _Mrs_. Weasley talk about?"

Should I tell her that we talk about everything and anything except the things that we need to talk about – my wife's death, her marriage, our attraction to each other? Of course Mother notices my hesitation and I am like glass in front of her.

"The two of you will never work out."

"I don't- "

"There is no combination so disastrous than a vulnerable man with a highly functional woman and vice versa. If you pursue a relationship with her you'd be embarking on a long and fruitless journey of denying the past – the past that will tell you where you're heading, which will be nowhere. It's the big things that matter, my dear; the sum is greater than its parts, as they say. She is self-righteous and you are all about self-preservation. She hates your family and friends. She and I cannot even be contained in the same thought by you. You hate her family and friends. Do you honestly think that you can sit down in the Weasleys' crooked drawing room with their crooked cat and crooked china and without shame come back to tell your friends about the great time you had at The Burrow? Is that what you want? You should marry of your own yolk, Draco darling. You should re-marry, yes, but don't go slithering into the wrong cave. If you must go slithering, you should go look for another snake."

It takes me a while before I can even say anything for all that she has said I've thought about. My mother is a practical woman, very traditional in her thinking, but still practical. She and Father got along so well because they were well matched in those respects. Plus, they were very ambitious and cunning and both had blond hair. They were compatible.

I want to tell my mother that she is wrong. I want to tell her that it's the little things that matter. I want to tell her that I can see myself spending the rest of my life talking (or arguing) with Granger and being perfectly satisfied. I want to tell her that when we're with each other we're happy. I want to tell her that I know that it's strange, almost like an oxymoron, to say that Granger makes me happy and not in some Schadenfreude sort of way. No, I see her and a smile comes to my face. I think about her and I have to start gnashing my teeth so that I don't break out into a grin in the most incongruous times like when my niece is telling me how distraught she is over something or the other. I want to tell my mother that I know I'm up against the impossible odds, but that has never stopped me before. I want to tell my mother that I'm not stupid; I know that mine and Granger's pasts are intertwined and can never be forgotten or cast aside. But that's the good news, for Granger has never been one to be satisfied with the past and the way it affects the present. Like me, she's always looking to make things better (though, arguably her reasons are generally more selfless as compared to mine) so I know she won't give up on us, she won't give up on me.

I don't say this to my mother, though. I just nod and utter some incoherent and non-binding sound of agreement because I know that my mother makes sense. It's going to be difficult for Granger and I to even admit our feelings for each other, let alone step out in public bravely arm in arm. Just the thought of it cripples me with simultaneous feelings of joy, fear and shame. I wonder if it will always be like that.

The other day, and by the other day I really mean months ago, Granger and I were in that pub that's close to her parents' house, eating the best thing on earth, sipping on good beer, chatting and generally having a great time. But that's not where the trouble starts. No, the trouble starts when I suddenly remembered that I had something to do for Pansy and that she would be coming over to my house any moment now. I was in a Muggle bar, at least an hour by broom away from my house (a broom neither Granger nor I had at the moment), it was too far for me to apparate in my inebriated state and I was too far away to send a patronus. In addition, the Portkey was left at Granger's parents' house and would not be ready for another two hours. I didn't want to leave Granger (yes, I know my story sounds like this is where the trouble starts – me not wanting to leave her), but with all my options exhausted I decided – fuck it; Pansy would have to see me another time. Granger then told me that in situations like these, what the Wizarding world really needs is a cell phone.

"A what?"

"A cell phone. It's much more convenient than the Floo and owls. The only thing is that technology and the presence of a lot of magic make it difficult for it to be adapted in the wizarding world. Harry has one, Ron too. We use it in emergencies, but most of the time the signal is a bit bad or it doesn't work at all depending on where the person is and how much magic is about."

"What?" It was like she was speaking English, but the words were reaching my ears in Greek.

"Look, let me show you. Harry's in…well, he's either home in Godric's Hollow or London…I think; doesn't matter. The point is that he's far from us here in Surrey. I'll call him. I'll put him on speaker too."

She took out this razor-blade thin contraption and said 'call Harry'. A little picture of Potter's ugly mug popped up. I nearly ducked under the table.

"Don't worry; I've fixed it so that he can't see you."

"Can't see who? Hermione are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Harry. I was only explaining to someone that I can still contact you no matter the distance."

"Explaining to whom?"

"Don't worry about it. Where are you?"

"I'm at Luna's. You're breaking up. I had to run outside to the boundary of the apparating line when I heard the phone ring. You sure you're okay? Who are you with?"

"I have to go, Harry. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

And she did something and the floating head of Harry Potter (I can't believe I have seen that _twice_ in my life now) disappears.

"See? If you had one of these, you could have called and re-arranged with Pansy. Well, Pansy would need to have one as well."

That moment changed my life. I officially thought that wizards using owls were the equivalent of them rubbing two sticks together to get sparks. Owls were soooo outdated! Hermione Granger in that moment gave me a new appreciation for Muggles and Muggleborns with their ingeniousness. They weren't so bad, that lot. The wily bastards.

My word, look at me marvelling over Muggle magic! The shame!

Now don't get me wrong. I still think magic is by far superior to those idiotic Muggles still using 'cars' to get from one place to the next and depicting witches as cackling, green, bulbous-nosed hags. I wouldn't touch a, what did Granger call it, a comepootur, with a ten-foot pole. On the other hand, I have developed a grudging respect for them because of cell phones.

I sat at that Muggle bar and felt uneasy, like I was doing something wrong. I felt like a complete sell-out. Forty years of learning to hate Muggles and Muggleborns don't just go away. It took me five years of prison service reform to learn to say Muggleborn.

The point of that story is that just a simple thing like finding Muggle magic to be useful after all caused so much shame; imagine the guilt that I feel for being attracted to Granger. It makes me feel like my world has been turned upside down. I feel as if the whole conduct of my life is in disarray.

What's even worse is that I know this feeling of being out of sorts is not just from the guilt and shame I have of going against everything I know and having an attraction towards to Granger. I know it's because I've also fallen in love with her.

"Besides, what would people say?" Mother continues, "You've only been a widower for a year. Also, Mrs. Hermione Weasley is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Do you really think she's the best person to be with given the circumstances regarding my dear daughter-in-law's tragic ending?"

I have a headache from Mother's steel-toed boot of guilt kicking me in the face. I get it! Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy is a match made in Hell. Out of frustration I light up a cigarette. Mother wrinkles her nose in annoyance and I blow smoke into her direction for spite. It's my best bet at defiance, though inwardly I know that her words won't stop me from loving Granger.

* * *

The day for Father to receive the Kiss has arrived. The weather is idyllic. The sky is a bright blue, the clouds hidden behind the sun. People are outside in droves, looking happy and light and free and I find this insulting. Don't they know that a man is going to have his soul sucked out today? How can they go about their business so happily and carefree?

The deed has already been done and now we're on the second level of the Ministry in some dusty room of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, waiting for some panjandrum to release Father's body to us to do what we will. The room is a simple ten by twelve, but it has no magical windows for us to look out of so we could pretend to ignore the tragedy in front of us. All it has is a sort of dais where Father's body is set upon in a simple pine box. Mother and I stand there feeling incredibly useless, me even more so as I struggle to keep Mother from falling apart. Father chose to have his life-support terminated. We understand why, but still... Mother's standing there in a state of shock, staring at Father's body like she's willing him to return to life, to her life, with the power of her mind alone. I must do something. We must put Father in the ground soon and get some closure before my Mother loses her mind and is unable to move on.

"I'll be back, Mother. I'm going to look for that official so that he can give us the necessary documents and we can be on our way, alright?" She doesn't acknowledge me. I conjure a comfortable chair for her and ease her into it.

I stand at her side and rub her shoulders for a moment, my mind in a twisted range of emotions that could never be articulated. I'm not sure how to feel. Memories that should have crumpled to dust are still alive and kicking in my head. I try to think of the good memories that I have with my father, but it inevitably gets warped with the bad ones. I know what will happen. It's the same thing with Astoria. I cannot escape the bad; they're too inexorably interwoven with the good, so in the end I'll have to stop thinking of Father for a while. I'll have to put him in a little box in my mind until I can weather the storm in my mind and my heart. I have to find a way to be happy again.

A sudden fear grips me. What if it's not possible for me? What if I end up in the exact same position as my father now? Fear grips me and I get that burning sensation in my throat and nostrils.

I can't bear to cry in that room, in this building, in this Ministry where everyone hates me. I don't know what I would do if someone were to walk in and see me this defeated. I gratefully remove myself from the room and walk down the labyrinthine corridors in search of the official.

I'm not expecting to nearly run into Granger wearing the plum coloured robes of the Wizengamot.

"Malfoy,"

I'm so shocked to see her that I don't trust myself to speak, but when I do it's entirely in character:

"I guess that Greenland hairdresser is worth the trip." She blushes a bit and self-consciously tries to pull back her hair, which is in loose, bouncy curls. "You're back to work?"

"Yes. The Minister lifted my suspension today – the hypocritical bastard. I still plan on getting that Bill passed, though."

"You should. I know that you weren't doing it just for my father."

"No, I was doing it for you." I don't know what to say to this, so I light a cigarette. "I'm sorry for your loss." She says after a few moments of just standing there looking at me light this fag.

"Thank you, but I'm used to loss."

"How are you coping?"

"I'm coping, I'm coping. Mother isn't. I was looking for the official that's responsible for the documents of the…" I can't bear to say the word 'execution', so I leave the sentence hanging. She jumps at the opportunity to be useful and make up for the way she's been avoiding me for the last two months.

"I can sign the documents. I have the authority. What room are you in?"

"Twenty-two A."

With a swish of her wand some documents appear in her hands and I lead the way back to the room. I knock on the door before I enter and wait a beat. Granger looks at me quizzically, but when we enter she understands why. Mother's eyes are red, but at least I gave her enough time to dry her tears and save herself from humiliation in front of Granger.

Granger is professional, but kind. She waits patiently for Mother to fill out the forms and she offers advice and answers questions briskly, but courteously. I am annoyed. Again, Granger will forever be tainted by an unwanted memory, this time it's my father's death.

"And this is the person in the Department of Magical Transportation who will see to it that the body will be delivered to the Manor or funeral home." She gives mother a card. "I'll send a memo to alert him to your impending arrival."

Mother is grateful for Granger's professionalism and distance. The official arrives at that moment and Granger instructs him to remove the body to the Department of Magical Transportation. We all leave behind him and Father's body.

In the lift the four of us make quite the spectacle. The coffin is upfront, Mother and the official are standing abreast each other and Granger and I bring up the rear, with her standing a bit to the front of me. My head is reeling. I quietly reach for her hand. She tries to pull away, but I surreptitiously insist. She struggles, but settles after a while and allows me to hold her hand. I can feel her hand trembling, but I just feel relaxed now. With a ding the cool, disembodied voice lets us know that we've arrived at level six. The official leads the way, magically floating the coffin out in front of him. Mother just follows wherever Father goes I suppose, her mind in a daze, and fails to realize when I close the lift behind her.

"What are you doing?" Granger still does not turn to face me when she asks this question.

"Don't – don't be like that with me."

"Like how?" Her tranquillity is driving me insane.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not –"

"Don't lie to me."

I spin her around and she rests her right hand on my chest to stop herself from falling over. She looks down at our close proximity and I only close the gap by pulling her flush against my body. I know that she's thinking about the last time that she saw me. I really wish that I wasn't so drunk then. Inanely, she says,

"You need to stop smoking."

Out of spite I take a drag and blow smoke into her face.

"What's going on with you and Weasley?"

"Please let me be,"

"What's going on with you and Weasley?"

"Malfoy,"

"Hermione," her head snaps up to look at me with wide eyes, "What's going on with you and Weasley?"

She stares at me like some frightened woodland creature. I don't know what she thinks I'm going to do to her. I have time to take another drag of my cigarette during her pause.

"We're not together. He's filed for official separation; wants me to pay for the divorce, though."

I huff out a laugh and smoke swirls out of my nostrils in cinereal ribbons. I take another drag right before I kiss her passionately, as if the war has just been over and peace declared. I try to commit this kiss to my memory as if I have to write a three-foot essay on it later. I kiss her deeply enough to happen upon those spots that most kisses miss. I put my hand on her neck and caress her hair (careful not to accidentally set her hair alight with my cigarette, though if that happens I'll just tell that my kisses have been known to set women on fire). I pull her into me even more. When she pulls back I feel her absence as if I'd been kissing her all my life.

The lift dings for the second level and she exits the elevator blowing smoke out of her mouth like she was snogging a dragon. Those waiting to get on look at Mrs. Hermione Weasley strangely walking out of the lift in a shaky daze, like she just got hit in the head with a Bludger. They look back at me, still a bête noir Death Eater in their eyes. I take a puff of my cigarette and blow smoke into their faces.

"Sixth level please," I say nonplussed, though I know that I'm just as shaken as Granger. My heartbeat is shaking my entire body. I've awakened something in the both of us. How odd that it happens on this day when a few minutes before all I could think about was death?

* * *

I alternate between two emotions – crippling grief for my father and inappropriate happiness when I think about Granger. In the last week I've been forcing back the grief. It's getting easier as time passes and as I consider that I could possibly have a future with Granger. Just maybe…

But it doesn't seem likely with the way things have been going lately.

Three weeks pass and Granger's not responding to any of my letters. Letters after letters I send her and she doesn't even so much as send me a Howler to tell me leave her alone. I even try to hint that I might get back with Pansy. It was sheer bravado really, trying to make her think that there was a possibility of a rival, maybe several. The truth was I wanted to get back with Pansy as much as I wanted to go back to Azkaban. Still, I got nothing from Granger. I write her obsessively, begging (or a near equivalent because Malfoys do not beg) her to see me. I suppose it's turned into a sort of obsession, a compulsion. I feel that I must see her. I tried to visit her house, but she's put a block on me. I literally cannot step foot onto her property. That should deter me, but no. I've decided to fly in the face of all my precepts. I'm quite aware that my few Pureblood-principles I was holding onto have diminished. I am quite ready to behave uncharacteristically in pursuit of her.

As usual I feel guilty that my brain has been hijacked by this love for Granger. I should be mourning the loss of my father and still be knee deep in crippling grief for my wife. And I am, but I can feel the bands of my mummification beginning to tear and strain. For the first time in a long time I'm feeling kind of happy. I can see contentment on the horizon and I find it amazing that it's something that is still possible for the likes of me. Granger is responsible for that. I know that she is feeling the same, but it's too soon in her mind. It's indecent to be feeling this way for another when her husband has only just left her. But we cannot help the ones we fall in love with nor can we help the timing.

I'm so desperate to see her that I've taken to staking out the places she's most likely to visit, i.e. Potter's house. Every evening for the last week I've released Crabby from his duties and now I insist that I'll apparate Scorpius from Potter's house – his new haunt now that he has this sudden interest in Lily Potter (but who am I to complain, so far it's advantageous to me). I make sure to arrive at least a half-hour before Scorpius told me to, so I'd have ample time to run into Granger. Unfortunately, it means that I usually end up making inane conversation with the Weaslette, but it's all for the greater good.

"Is it that you don't know how to cast a Tempus charm or what? Why is that you keep showing up here at least a half-hour before Scorpius says he's ready?" The Weaslette says to me one evening as I sit in her kitchen.

"The early bird gets the worm,"

"What worm?"

The bookworm, I don't answer, but instead offer a sly smile. "I heard that you and Granger were on the outs because of my father's appeal. Are you witches patched up now?"

She eyes me suspiciously with her tiny eyes set darkly against her doughy, freckled face. "Yeah, we've talked things over. Why do you care? Is it that you've finally come to apologize for all the things that you did to Harry and me over the years?"

"Ummm…yes, yes I have." I lie. "I just wanted to apologize for the way things happened between us. I mean, it's long overdue, but I hope that it's water under the bridge now. My father never apologized for the diary thing, so I'm doing so posthumously on his behalf. I'm truly sorry." I lie.

She looks at me suspiciously, considering my sincerity... I must reel her in before I lose her. "My father's death has shaken me," That much is true. "He changed in prison and he begged of me to do the same," still true, "so I think it's time for me to put aside those trivial and petty rivalries of the past. It's good to make amends, don't you think?"

She takes a long time to answer.

"I do think so, yes."

"Speaking of making up, I heard that Granger and her husband are separated. Are they thinking of making up or anything like that? I mean, for the children, of course."

"Right now, I don't think there's any chance of reconciliation; they need a little space."

"Is that so? That's too bad." I say with the deepest regret in my voice, but I know that I must be wearing that serial killer grin that Granger's told me about. I inspect the teacup in front of me for spots before I take a sip of my tea. "She must really lean on you in these times."

"Actually, she's been throwing herself into her work. I hardly see her. We're still hoping that she and Ron work things out, which could still happen."

"What? I mean…you should reach out, invite her to dinner. You can't let her fall away from those who love her."

"I suppose you're right…" She looks at me suspiciously; a default setting when it comes to me. "You should invite her over tomorrow."

"I'll take it into consideration," She says coolly, but I can tell that she's already made up her mind.

I smile indulgently at her while I plan out what I'll wear tomorrow when I 'coincidentally' happen upon the dinner party. Granger usually complains about all the black that I wear. I do have that dark grey shirt that I never wore. It really brings out my eyes… "Can Scorpius sleep over tonight? I'll pick him up tomorrow morning instead."

"Uh, o-of course,"

Our entire interaction has her confused, but I could care less about her. I have grander plans.

The next day I send an owl explaining in the vaguest way possible why I am unable to pick up my son in the morning and he may have to sleep over again, deepest regret, I owe you, blah blah blah. The Weaslette does not question it.

By half-seven that evening I was fully dressed and biding my time by having a drink. I figured enough time passed and that by now they were sure to be eating. Granger would surely be tucking into her chicken. The Weaslette would invite me stay for dinner and I'd sit opposite Granger giving her sly looks across the stew and make generally good conversation, maybe even a few politically correct jokes. By dessert she'd be mine. Yes, yes that's the plan.

When I get there I realize one small problem – Harry Bollocks Potter also lives there and he apparently talks to his wife and _he's_ not as stupid as _she_ looks. He opens the door looking at me real suspiciously.

"Malfoy. What a coincidence that you arrived when we're having dinner. With Hermione. Who's been ducking you for the last few weeks."

Fuck. He apparently talks to Granger as well. Clearly he's not in support of me becoming the second husband of his dearest friend.

"Come in, why don't you?"

I'm weary, but I follow through. He leads me to the dining room where as soon as I enter I first see Rose and Hugo, both of whom smile graciously at me. Then Granger spots me and comically chokes on her drink.

"Malfoy," The Weaslette look ups at me, "I was just telling Hermione here how you apologized. You of all people!" She has on this smug, knowing smirk and Granger's still mopping up her wine and staring at me wide-eyed. I hope she notices the shirt. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Before I can even answer Potter jumps up with, "He can't. Scorpius is so tired and just wants to go home."

"I am?" My poor, innocent son looks up, baffled.

"Yes, you are." Potter vanishes the food from Scorpius' plate and hauls up the boy in one fell swoop. He very nearly pushes us out the door. When I'm standing on his porch he leans in to me and whispers,

"I know what you're up to, Malfoy. Don't try that again. I'm going to keep you away from her." He pretends to wave his wand, "Cockitus Blockitus," he says and slams the door in my face. I hear him chuckling evilly behind the door.

"Potter, you cun –" I turn to see Scorpius staring up at me, still bewildered as to what just happened.

"What just happened?" He asks me.

"Nothing, son. Nothing happened at all." And that's the problem right there!

* * *

I feel forlorn and bewildered. The only two women I've bothered to be interested in chased me around, so I've never had to be the pursuer. And now Granger has made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with me.

"Well, it's not like you're not used to that, so the problem is…?" Blaise asks me one evening. Yes, I've broken down and confessed to him and Pansy. I think they'd rather I'd said I was into fucking sheep or something. They were horrified and couldn't fathom how this could have happened. Well, Blaise kind of understands. He's willing to admit that Granger looks quite fit. Plus, it's him who told me to befriend Granger in the first place. Pansy would rather I get face cancer than marry Granger.

"Drakey darling, don't you think that you're distracting your feelings of grief for your father and channelling it into this I-love-Hermione-Granger nonsense?"

Probably.

"No. I do think about Father and I feel horrible. I feel an absence that's deep and gnawing. But when I think about all the time that I've spent with Hermione –"

"Oh she's Hermione now?" Blaise interrupts, "Next you'd be inviting her to spend vacation with us in France."

"She makes me happy and that's that."

"Are you sure you can't animate an upended broom and have the same results?" Pansy asks and Blaise bursts out laughing. I suppose it says something of how far I've fallen that I don't laugh, but only look at Pansy crossly.

"Oh dear, you're serious about this, aren't you?"

"I am,"

We all sit silently for a while looking like we just received a poor diagnosis of some sort. After a while, Pansy speaks up.

"Well Drakey dear, if you must, you have one more chance." I look up at her expectantly. Blaise looks at her curiously. "Today is Luna Lovegood's wedding, remember?" I do. I spent a good twenty minutes trying to figure out why Lovegood would invite Scorpius. I mean, did she have a quota to fill? He only tells me that he can't help it that women find him irresistible. That boy. Pansy continues,

"Gatecrash the wedding. If anyone asks, say you're there to apparate Scorpius home. Granger'll be there. She'll be drunk. It's a wedding; everyone gets drunk at weddings. If not, get her drunk and take it from there. I'm sure you can whip up some colourless, odourless potion to slip in her drink. Or you can slip her this new green drink that everyone's talking about. I hear it makes you hypersexual."

It amazes me that Pansy has never done prison time. While I don't agree with Pansy's idea to date rape Granger, I do agree with her idea to try one last time.

"But please, Draco," Blaise interjects, "You need to shave off the beard. It looks like an albino spider is attacking your face."

"I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"We're there for you."

There for me, my arse. I know that they only want to see me be humiliated so they'd have something to laugh about over drinks later. Nonetheless, I take them seriously. I shave the beard. Strange, I took up that razor and not once did Astoria's spirit try to slice open my neck. Maybe she's moved on now that she knows I have too.

Of course Lovegood's wedding reception looks like the cross-section of a guava – sappy and rich with colour. It's held at her house and there are colours everywhere. It's so strange. For miles and miles around there is only flatlands, heath and wheat golden in monochromatic beige…and then there's this. A rainbow must have vomited all over the proceedings. I nearly turn back, Granger be damned. There are tents set up outside the ugly rook-shaped house, music playing and people dancing. I feel nauseous just looking at the spectacle. Lovegood (dressed in a deep yellow dress that is a colour similar to when you pee after you haven't drunk any water for the day – it looks good on her) is dancing with some woman very slowly. Her husband, Wolf Salamander or some ridiculous name like that is dancing with Molly Weasley. I see Scorpius. He's trying to talk to Albus Potter who seems intent on trying to get away from him. Scorpius looks like he's begging Albus for something. What on earth could those two be talking about? I want to watch them for a little while, but then I spot her.

She looks amazing. She's wearing red, like the other bridesmaids, including…Potter? That's who Lovegood is dancing with?! The top of his shirt seem to be the same style as Hermione's dress, but with ruffled sleeves and a higher neckline with even more ruffles. It's more of a blouse really and luckily he's wearing trousers. The material is…is that taffeta?

I laugh so loud and so long at this that I have to sit down at the nearest empty table.

"Well, you're sure having a great time."

It's Granger. I look up (and I really mean I look her up and down; her skirt has a high slit – thank you Loony Lovegood) and there she is looking like brunette perfection. She looks good enough to eat, better enough to fuck. She takes her thumb and wipes away the tears of joy that have leaked down onto my cheeks. I revel in her touch.

"What crime did Potter commit to make Lovegood do that to him?"

She looks back at Potter and Lovegood dancing and suppresses a smile. "I try not to get in between the two of them."

"You couldn't if you tried." I say and she laughs.

"You finally shaved that horrible beard."

"Horrible? I'll have you know that growing that beard –"

"Was the manliest thing you've ever done?"

I try to scowl at her but her grin makes me want to smile, so I settle for distraction,

"Are you drunk, Granger?"

"No, why?"

"Never mind," Pansy's 'advice' comes to mind and I quickly dismiss it. "Just be more careful with your drinks." She looks at me suspiciously for a moment, but dismisses the thought.

"I can't run from you this evening, can I?"

"You can run into my arms. Would you like to dance?" She looks around and notices that everyone is so plastered that they wouldn't realize if she were dancing with the Dark Lord, so she agrees. The band is playing a rather upbeat song, but we just one-two step like we're hearing the song three times as slow in our heads.

"Where's Weasley?"

"He's at the paper. Tomorrow's Sunday and he has a column due."

"I've read his columns. They actually are very entertaining. How are the children taking it?"

"They're coping, lashing out a bit, but they're handling it better than I expected. They're smarter than they look. They've seen it coming for a while. It seems everyone was seeing it. I guess I was running away from the inevitable."

"That must be a character flaw." I stare at her pointedly and she gives me a wry smile. A slower beat comes on, but we're already in step. She rests her head on my shoulder.

"Draco,"

"Yes Hermione,"

For a moment we drift from side to side, loving the feel of our names on the other's tongue.

"Every song I listen to either makes me smile with nostalgia or makes me burst into tears. I've had to stop walking sometimes, especially if I'm at the top of stairs because walking down stairs while sobbing uncontrollably is not the safest thing to do. I can't go to my parents' house because I don't want them to see me crying. I've stopped listening to music, but memories and reminders come at me from all directions. One moment, I'm _almost_ having a good time, making small talk, the next, I'm looking up at the ceiling and making inane compliments about the rafters because I'm ashamed that tears welled up hot in my eyes and I don't want anyone to see them spill."

"Well, after a while you won't feel that pain so hard anymore. Of course right now it feels like the end of the world, but you'll survive. You can feel like a failure when a marriage ends, but after a while you'd get over that romantic sort of thinking that one love would last forever. It's understandable that you'd feel that way."

"Draco," She leans back and looks up at me, her eyelashes as long as the hour, "I wasn't feeling that way about Ron." We stop dancing and simply stare at each other. "I feel guilty about it. At some point in time our marriage got replaced by a friendship and not in a my-best-friend-is-my-spouse sort of way, but more like he's the brother I never wanted. Why…why don't I feel more for him? Why do I feel so much for you?"

"Do you know what anoesis is?" She shakes her head and I am amazed that she doesn't know this. I briefly consider that she said no just not to hurt my feelings. "Anoesis is a state of mind consisting of pure sensation or emotion without cognitive content. When I'm with you everything falls away. All I feel is either happiness or annoyance sometimes or anger, but mostly it's a giddy sort of contentment and I barely recognize anyone or anything else but you. I feel high with you. You put me in a state of anoesis. Do you know what I mean?"

She looks at me intently. A cool wind blows across, ruffling her curls. Without taking her eyes off of me she pushes back her hair and whispers, "Yeah, I do."

It's not something we planned. It's not something that I planned. Somehow we found ourselves against Xenophilius Lovegood's printing press on the second floor of a house where she nearly died almost twenty years ago and whose owner's daughter was held captive at my house at around the same time. We don't think about those things. We only focus on knowing each other in this new and exciting way. She is everything that I've imagined. She is warm and wet and smooth and tight. Everything is moving at the pace of quicksilver and we give no thought to logic and reality and what this means for us now. And it's only now that I realized just how much I missed even the slightest touch, that human connection reminder. It feels so good to be with someone like that, and not just anyone, but someone I'm in love with, that I give her my all. I embrace her like I'm going back to prison tomorrow. We collapse on the floor together laughing, breathless.

She picks up a copy of the Quibbler. "Huh. Xenophilius is advertising Erumpent-made shoes," She says as she pulls down her dress with her other hand.

"I can't believe you just said that…I must be losing my touch." I look away from her in dejection and realize that her underwear is hanging from the lamp.

"Well, if that's you losing your touch I'd hate for you to be on top form."

"That's more like it." She rolls her eyes and laughs. I am enthralled. She pulls me into a kiss, deep and sensuous. She pulls away and I briefly wonder if she's ready for round two. I may feel like a teenager again, but I'm not actually a teenager. She's going to have to wait at least a half-hour again. She gets up, but her knees are a bit weak, so she holds onto the printing press for support. I feel validated that she's weak in the knees because of me. I get up to help steady her and also to properly pull up my pants.

"Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"I knew what anoesis was."

"I knew it!" She laughs out loud and kisses me again and when she pulls back this time she says,

"I knew the meaning in theory, but now I know it in practice."

Well melt my heart, Hermione Granger! This is the first time that any woman has ever made me blush.

It's one of those things that you don't really plan; it just happens. It's still too soon, she says and I understand what she's saying. The entire Weasley, Potter and Granger family still expect her to get back with Weasley – it's only a formal separation. We have children to consider. She has a career to think about. We still have that deep, gnawing sense of guilt that we're disrespecting the memories of the ones we loved. And of course there are things about me that she doesn't know… My mother's words haunt me.

We have what appears to be an inexhaustible list of reasons why we shouldn't be together and to be fair, we do stay apart for a while. I don't see her. We don't write. It's almost like nothing happened. But by the time September comes I'm standing outside the door to her house after ten in the night with a bouquet of flowers and an overnight bag in hand.

"Draco,"

"I refuse to be denied."

She stares at me, contemplating and after what feels like an eternity she moves aside to let me in and takes the flowers from me. By the time she closes the door I've dropped the bag to the floor and I have her backed up against the door in a breathless snog. She breaks free.

"Not on another hard surface this time, my back can't take it, alright?" I can't help but laugh. I take her up and she shrieks in delight like a teenage witch.

"Can't say I never swept you off your feet."

She laughs and kisses me and I feel ecstatic, like nothing could go wrong, even though I'm officially having a love affair with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I can never let her know the truth about me, the secrets I hide. I can't afford to go to prison again. I just can't. I can't ever let her find out that I killed my wife.

* * *

**A/N**: They finally get together! But will they stay together? Draco has secrets…What did you think of this chapter? Were Draco's complicated feelings written correctly? Review and let me know please? Up next: Hermione.


	14. Chapter Nine: Hermione Part One

**Chapter Nine: Hermione – Part One**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: You guys were up in arms about Malfoy's little revelation in the last chapter. Don't worry, all will be explained soon. There're only about four more chapters left, excluding the epilogue. However, these chapters are starting to get quite long, so they will have to be broken up. Here is part one. You will get part two tomorrow.

**Random note**: Hermione's views on religion are not meant to offend. I myself am Catholic.

* * *

Snow fell all night last night and this morning my entire bedroom is cast in a surreal apricot-hued tint, like someone threw an orange-coloured shade over the rising sun. The light is not harsh, but there is a distortion of distance and depth created, suspending me in an almost hypnagogic state. It's the oddest thing.

I often feel that pull of surrealism when I'm with Draco. This morning is no different. He lies next to me on his stomach, his hands hugging the pillow like he's afraid someone would snatch it away from him. The sheets have slid down to his lower back and I can see his pale, smooth skin before it's hidden by the elastic band of his pyjama bottoms. He is very thin, but is not all sharp-edges-and-bones/might-disappear-if-he-turns-sideways skinny. No, he's just thin, but not gangly like Ron. From this angle I cannot see the Mark on his arm, the skin that pulls and pinches there. His head is turned away from me, so all I get is his shock of blonde-white hair. I find him beautiful and in this surrealistic prismatic shade of unreal lighting I feel like I stepped into a strange dream.

I lean over and kiss the back of his neck gently, once, twice, three times. He stirs. I must wake him gently. He is only now getting over his bouts with insomnia and sometimes he wakes with a start, not knowing whether he is awake or dreaming. Sometimes, he makes a strange sound in his sleep, like a strangled scream, like he wants to shout but his vocal chords are trapped. I have to shout his name and he'll open his eyes, but he'll still be seeing whatever horrific images that are burned into his mind, like the after-glare of a flash bulb. In these states I must talk to him steadily, quietly like I'm trying to talk someone off a ledge. He'll turn to me and look at me like he cannot believe that he is in my bed and that I am the one trying to bring him back to reality. I imagine that I sometimes mimic this look. I'll ask him what he dreamt. He'll tell me in great detail if it's his memories of Voldemort's stay at the Manor. Or he'll tell me whether it's witnessing his Father's death and the grief that breaks the mental levee he uses to block it during the day. He'll tell me if he dreams that his son is in trouble and is so far gone that he cannot help him, the frustration will nearly kill him. I don't doubt that he dreams these things, but I doubt that it is these dreams that cause this strong reaction. I am convinced that these horrific happenings are caused by the memories of Astoria. But he'll never tell me that. He will tell me everything, but discussion of her is taboo.

I still cannot believe sometimes that I am with Draco Malfoy. The horrible things he said and did sometimes seem like they happened only this morning. Then he'll kiss me gently or make me laugh out loud or say something insightful and I'll realize that I'm privileged. I got to see the worst of him and now, now I can bask in knowing the best of him.

"I'm up, I'm up." He says groggily. He turns onto his back. The sheets shift and I can see his erection straining the front of his pyjama bottoms. I blush as if I haven't been married for sixteen years and don't know exactly what happens to men in the morning. I lean into his neck, his scent reminds me of something clean and light like the memory of spring rain. I press my breasts into him and he chuckles devilishly because he knows what I want, but I should be sensible; I have a full day ahead of me. Damn overactive sense of duty! I pull up from him and sit up properly, unwillingly.

"We have to get up soon. I have two meetings this morning. The Minister is up in arms about the recent uprising of neo-Death Eater incidents. Later in the morning the trial starts for two of them that were caught last month. They're just kids, really. They're no older than twenty-five." He gives me a slightly amused raised eyebrow of incredulity, but I only roll my eyes to let him know that the irony is not lost on me that I'm currently in bed with the youngest Death Eater in history. "What do you have to do today?"

"Umm…" his eyes roll to the back of his head, scanning his thoughts on his busy schedule, "…nothing. I have some Christmas shopping to get done, but that's about it."

"You are such a vagrant." I shake my head in amusement.

"Oh hang on; I'll have you know that venturing into the Parisian Christmas shopping crowd one week before Christmas is equivalent to battling very snooty and well-dressed savages. They are vicious!"

"You're heading to Paris today?"

"I can't shop in the normal London Wizarding shops, dear. You know this." There is that stab of surrealism piercing me under the skin with this reminder that I am sleeping with a once convicted Death Eater, the likes of whom, society may never forgive. "Besides, I don't want to take the risk of running into you when I'm buying your gifts. Plus, it'll give me a chance to see Mother and get away from Nott's annoying letters."

"He's still harassing you to approve this business deal? What's the deal about?"

He makes a rude sound with his teeth and dismisses the question with a wave of his hand. I don't know if that means that he doesn't want to talk about it or he has only a vague idea of what the deal entails anyway. Knowing how much he detests actually working I'm leaning towards the latter. "It has to do with memory charms. What time is it?" He says it like it's one sentence.

"Umm," I reach for my wand on the bedside table and cast a Tempus. The room glows even more when the numbers 6:32 shine in the air. "Come on, I have to get up. Ron'll be here soon for his breakfast."

He groans his annoyance, but I don't bother to reply because our argument over Ron's presence in my life is the same syndicated conversation we've been having for the last four months.

"Why haven't you asked for a divorce? Does he still want you to pay for it? Because I can give you money, lend it to you if it'll make you feel better."

I just barely manage to keep in my sigh. I should've known that even if I don't want to talk about it, it doesn't mean that Draco will follow my lead.

"We have children to consider." I mumble, trying my best to be patient.

"Are you planning on getting back with him? Because I can see how it'll work this time." He says with all the sarcasm and condescension that he is known for.

"No, but you know that we have to do things gradually. No one knows that I'm with you. I have to gradually get them used to the idea and that will take time. The children, my friends, everyone still thinks that we'll get back together –"

"That's because you encourage the idea! Why do you feel the need to make him breakfast every morning?"

"I've been making his breakfast every day for the last sixteen years. It's the one thing we can agree on. Sometimes old habits die hard."

"Yeah, tell me about it." He looks at me pointedly. I don't have any rebuttal. "You're ashamed, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You're ashamed and you're procrastinating. You're delaying making a decision."

"What?" The annoyance is not hidden anymore.

"You're having trouble accepting reality, Hermione. You're still living in the past."

"If I were I wouldn't be sleeping with you! Back then I'd have more sense than now." I practically hiss at him, but it's only because his words are digging straight through to my heart. His lips curl into a sneer, his eyes harden but he takes a deep breath and rearranges his features to look less terrifying.

"Look, I'm not saying that you have to divorce him tomorrow. I understand that there are the children to consider. I understand that this is a difficult transition for you, but I need you to consider how I'm feeling."

"And that's exactly the problem right there. You're focused too much on you. I'm not the one being selfish and inconsiderate. It's you." I pull away from him and get off the bed, throwing off the covers on me wildly so that it nearly smothers him. I glance back at him but he's wearing a shocked expression, like I really wounded him with that quilt. I head to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I turn on the taps to fill the tub and start to brush my teeth at the face basin and that's when it hits me – this overwhelming sense that what I have with him won't last. It's a feeling that comes just as often as the surrealistic acknowledgement that I'm with him in the first place. I have this feeling, like an expectation almost, that something bad will happen, that this contentment I have with him is transient.

I hear the front door slam shut and seconds later I hear the distant whip-crack of him disapparating. That was quick. Did he leave dressed in his pyjama bottoms alone? That's a stupid and unnecessary thought. What if he doesn't come back? I grip onto the sink for support as the fear of that possibility nearly levels me.

This is not how things are supposed to be.

* * *

"What's the matter with you?" Ron asks me nearly an hour after my…what was that between Malfoy and me? Did we have a genuine row? It didn't feel like it and I know a row when I see one. Ron and I used to row all the time. With Draco, this row for want of a better word, feels like, like I don't know…a sickening sensation that this is what it's supposed to be, that all the bliss I've been feeling with him for the past four months is a well-crafted illusion.

"Huh? Oh um, I overslept. Sorry, I haven't made breakfast as yet. I'll get right on it." I can feel his eyes on me as I move around the kitchen, banging up pots and pans, cracking eggs and stirring tea. He eventually sits at the table and takes out the papers to read, but I know that he's not really reading it. He's waiting for an opening. He gets it when I rest a cup of tea in front of him.

"You know, you've been really distracted lately. Are you uncomfortable with me still coming here for my breakfast?"

"What? No. Of course I'm not. I've been making your breakfast for the last sixteen years. It's not a problem."

He doesn't say anything, but I know he knows that something is wrong with me this morning.

Draco doesn't understand that I don't want to lose the friendship I have with Ron. We have children together. We have a deep history. Everything in my life is intertwined with him. I just don't want to live with him anymore.

It's so strange. I talk to Ron better now than I ever have during the entire time that we lived together as husband and wife. It's embarrassing is what it is. It's shameful that it took us sixteen years to realize that we are much better off as friends. When he leaves me in the morning to go do whatever it is he does now that he's a newspaper writer, I feel a wave of relief knowing that I don't have to care.

Ron is serving as my reminder that this idyllic scene of bliss that I have with Draco will end because it makes no sense. I'm supposed to be Mrs. Hermione Weasley – responsible adult. I'm not supposed to be separated from my husband. I'm not supposed to be lying to everyone that I know. There is no way that Draco can be incorporated into my life. What will people say when they find out? What about my children? What about my job? What about my friends? What about Draco?

"'Mione?"

I jump out of my thoughts. Ron's standing next to me near the stove. I've burnt the toast.

"What's the matter? Are you ill?"

"No, I'm just…" terrified my life is going to pieces soon, I don't say. Ron pulls me into a hug and strokes my hair and I feel uncomfortable. At the end of the day this man is my husband in the eyes of the world, but we are officially separated. Yet, I feel like I'm too close to him. Draco wouldn't like it. I pull away and he stares at me in confusion for a while. I feel like a twat. I'm a monster. We stand there feeling awkward until he speaks:

"What if I say . . . we should get back together?"

I look at the floor as if the hardwood had asked me the question. I could see Draco's smug face telling me that he knew this was going to happen. I mentally punch him in the face.

"I'm not saying it out of pride or anything like that." That just makes me think that that's exactly why he's saying it.

"Ron…you…we…we already let each other go."

I can't even look him in the eyes, but I know the expression that his face holds: burning red with shame and frustration.

"You should get ready for work," he mumbles. "I should head out. I'll see you later?"

"I can't. I told Mum that I'll pass by later." I lie. Good grief! Malfoy's influencing me already! Of course he is; I can't have a single thought without him in the background. I'm in too deep with him.

Lately, Ron's been wanting to spend time with me in the evening as well. Three times the week before, he came over for dinner. Last week Monday and Tuesday he asked me to dinner again. It drives Draco batty and by extension, me. I've began to tell him that I'll be at my parents'. He doesn't even question it. He assumes that this is my way to deal with our current marital status – to cling to my mother. To be fair, I have visited my parents' house recently, but usually it's with Draco in tow. They disapprove of the situation – they want me to get a divorce, despite their Catholic beliefs, but they approve of Draco. They honestly like him. I suppose it's the fact that they don't remember much about Draco's other life – his Death Eater days. I suspect that they'd have a change in opinion with that revelation.

"Oh okay. I have an interview to conduct with Johnny Bradbush – the Muggleborn Quidditch player who's returning to the game after a ten year absence. You know he was playing Muggle football during that time? Barmy, he is. Anyway, I thought that maybe after the interview we could've meet up, but if you're busy…"

Just like that we move on and pretend that nothing's happened…just as how we've been doing for the last few years; pretending that nothing's happened. This one situation is my marriage summed up.

He trails off and expects me to change my mind. Usually, he'd be right. I'd feel guilty that he thought of me or I'd feel wanted, pleasantly surprised that he managed to contain both me and Quidditch in the same thought. It won't be so this time. I need to see Draco. I need to get rid of this feeling that this is how it should be between us. I need to fix us.

"I'll see you tomorrow evening, though. We have to pick up the kids from school, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember. I'll see you. I'll meet you at the station for around five, okay?" I nod and he turns to leave. He's barely spinning away in green flames when I sit down to write a letter to Draco, my heart heavy with that familiar guilty feeling.

* * *

It's a stark contrast to the way the morning started off with the splendid, seraphic amber brilliance to end with this dull greyish/bluish lighting that makes the entire place look like it's bathed in drain water. It's bitingly cold and I shove my gloved hands into my red pea coat. Still, I feel relieved when I see Draco strolling up the steps to the cathedral. Sure he looks like the devil himself dressed in all black and a scowl, but I feel like I can take on the task of being his saviour.

"What's with the trench coat? You look like you shop at Paedophiles R Us."

He doesn't even crack a smirk at that and I thought that was a pretty good opening.

"Why have you called me here, Granger?" He says tiredly. Not in the mood for jokes, clearly.

"We're back to Granger now, is it? You must be really upset." He only scowls some more. His face should stick that way; that'll teach him. "I want to show you something. Come on." He follows me inside, reluctantly.

Inside the cathedral the light is low and ethereal because of the gloomy weather outside and the flickering candles inside. There are a few scattered old folks praying silently, but other than that the place is quiet, gratefully so. We walk a bit into the nave and sit at the edge of a pew that is near the back. I remove my white beanie hat. Surprisingly, he says nothing about the hat hair. He must be really upset. I must tread carefully.

"Why are we at a church?" He asks grumpily.

"I find it relaxing."

He gives me a look which means he clearly disagrees. To be fair though, he's in such a bad mood from earlier that he'll disagree with me on anything. I could tell him right now that his name is Draco Malfoy and he'll fight me wrong and strong that his name is Hubert. He's in that kind of mood.

"Did I ever tell you that my parents grew up Catholic?"

"You mentioned it. They mentioned it once or twice. The cross that hangs over their kitchen said it loud and clear when it fell on my head that one time."

"I think they took that as a sign of divine intervention." The corners of his lips tug up into a neart smile and I smile too remembering the moment. "They never gave up on their faith, even when they found out that I was a witch. They didn't give up on their faith and they didn't give up on me."

"Ah, so just fox hunts, but no witch hunts for them?"

"Neither. They're animal rights supporters." He covers his smile with a cough.

"But you, you're not Catholic anymore?"

"Well, I was born into the religion, so I can never really leave it, but I know what I believe and what I don't."

"So, you don't believe in the faith anymore?"

"Like most religions, I find it full of contradictions."

He snorts in amusement. "You seem to be drawn to contradictions. It must be a character flaw."

"How so?"

"A bookworm like you is drawn to the world of magic where logical explanations elude. And of course there is your against-all-logic relationship with me."

I lean in to whisper, "Maybe I'm not drawn to the reason, but to the possibilities; a different way of doing things."

"Licentious woman!" He mock scolds. "Flirting with me in a house of worship!"

I try really hard not to smile, but all I end up doing is scrunching up my face. He looks at me slightly amused. "So, you're a non-believer?" He asks after a while.

"I wouldn't say that, but I know that I'm not religious. I don't even know if I'm spiritual. I'm something. I don't know. I don't have a name for it. It took a long while to reconcile my religious Muggle upbringing with the world of Magic. That sort of reconciliation didn't come easy. I felt like an outsider in both worlds because of the views I brought over to each." I hope he understands what I'm trying to say.

"I know exactly what you mean." He says sombrely and I know that he does. His features soften.

"In my second year though, you...inspired me, in a way." He turns to look at me, surprised. "Yes, you. When you called me a Mudblood I cried. I knew that my parents would have told me to have faith because in the end the just will get what they deserved, blah blah blah. But when you called me a Mudblood I realized something then. I realized that I didn't like the idea of palliating my feelings with promises that somebody else had to fulfil. Your prejudice forced me to have to justify why I believed certain things when you called me a Mudblood. At the end of the day we're simply human, not Muggle or Wizard.

"Don't get me wrong. I know that of course there exist distinctions, but the ones you were focussing on were superficial and irrelevant. I thought then that if you had a problem with me then you have a problem with yourself because in the most basic and fundamental sense we are the same. However, telling you that at the time was not going to change your mind. But more than ever did you make me want to change your mind, and not just your mind, but the mentality of all the prejudiced purebloods out there. _You_ made me want to change the world, not wait for a higher being to fix it. But it's not easy. It's not easy to wholeheartedly say one thing and then you're put to the test when you have to practice what you preach."

He doesn't say anything for a long while. He just sits there considering what I confessed. Eventually, he says,

"Me?" I nod and he silently absorbs what I just said. "In year two? I inspired you?" He says after a while and I nod again. "Huh. You see, racism has its advantages."

"Malfoy!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking." He genuinely smiles for the first time since he arrived and I feel a little better. "But you do realize that this means that we're meant to be, right?"

"Really?"

"Hermione, this is classic romance novel stuff here. All you need now is a make-over and we'd be set. I'm your knight here to save you, darling."

"I don't need a make-over. And I don't need a knight!"

"Ah! I see this is a feminist fairy tale, then. Fine. You can jump on your high horse and ride off into the sunset with me. I know you have one. You get on it all the time."

I try really hard not to laugh, really I do, but I end up laughing. I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. "You're such an idiot, Malfoy."

"I'm sorry." I say after a few moments. He turns to me trying his best to tamper his smug smile. "You're right. I'm having trouble coming to terms with our relationship. There's the old you and then there's this person who seems like a completely other person. The world still sees you as the person you were before and I think that's all they'll ever see. I don't know if I'm any different, despite all my talk about equality."

"You are different or you wouldn't be here with me."

I look over at him and he removes a strand of hair from my face to tuck it behind my hair. Like a teenage girl I feel iron butterflies in my stomach. I am in so deep with him.

"I want to be as brave as you think I am and truly be with you, but I don't know if we can ever have that free and open relationship that other people so carelessly take for granted –"

"Hell is what we can't have," he quietly mumbles, but I hear him.

"'Heaven is a place on earth with you.'" I sing the line of an old song we know as I look at him pointedly with a huge grin.

"Mmm, I like cheese." We say at the same time and burst out in stifled laughter. Eventually, we sober up and I say,

"We may never have what we want, but I'm willing to try."

He seems unable to speak. He opens his mouth a number of times to form the words and eventually is only able to mutter a quiet and deeply genuine, "Thank you."

The church is silent and cavernous, yet I feel safe like never before. There are statues of a few saints and a few stained glass portraits depicting scenes of strength of faith like Saint Alice – the Patron Saint of the blind and paralyzed and the Archangel Michael trampling Satan. If only it were so simple…

After a while he says, "I'm not selfish, you know. I used to be, but I'm not anymore. I feel so guilty all the time." I look over at him, but his eyes are focused on the nearly forty feet high clerestory that is covered with mosaic. The light from these windows come in at an angle so all one sees are these shafts of bright blue light streaming in from heaven. It can make anyone feel humbled. "I don't much care for religion or God or hell. I always saw religion as a lot of papal bullshit. I do not believe in religion. As a matter of fact, it is only relatively recently that I've discovered what the Muggles refer to as religion. I've studied it for a while and the result is that I still don't believe in religion. I do believe in what that one Muggle, Marx his name was I think, meant when he said that religion is the opiate of the masses. I didn't believe in a god or a devil, but my experiences have changed my views. The devil has been to my house – twice and I have learnt from that. I want to…I want to be…I want to be good for you. I want to take care of you. I want to make you happy."

He looks over at me and we hold each other's attention. He's searching for my understanding. I'm searching for his sincerity. His words have layers.

"I mean it." He says.

"I know."

"I do."

"I know."

"We can make this work."

"I believe that." I say and mean it.

"I want to marry you soon. I want you to be my wife and I want us to live together and be a family. You, me, Scorpius, Rose, Hugo and maybe even have children of our own."

I don't know what to say. Even if I had an eloquent response I'd still be unable to speak because I know my breath is hitched in my throat. I can't stop blushing. He doesn't ask for a response, thankfully.

He takes my hand in his and we sit silently taking in the majesty and beauty of the church. Well, I'm just trying to get my breathing down to normal levels. We're lulled into a sort of meditative trance. Who knows how long we sit like that. I barely notice someone, a man who is tall and gangly, coming down the aisle. I don't even look up, but I must when the person stops right at our pew. When I look up my breath catches. It's Ron and his face is demonstrating all the illustrations for shock and anger as he stares at my hand intertwined with Draco's. I personally think it's to my credit that I didn't fling away Draco's hand and disapparate right then and there. It's like meeting someone you know in a brothel. At first, you're shocked and shamed that they caught you in such a predicament, but then you question what they're doing there in the first place.

"What are you doing here, Ron?"

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here, with _him_?" His voice echoes in the silent church and a few parishioners turn to look at the source of the commotion.

"Weasley, fancy meeting you here," Of course Draco says that. I want to choke him, but he's got my hand in a vice grip. I know that this right here is some sort of fantasy for him: that Ron finally finds out in a spectacular way. I know he'd probably prefer if Ron walked in on us making love in Ron's bed in Ron's house, but he'll have to settle for this.

"Draco, I think – "

"That you and Weasley here need to talk?" He finishes for me as he gets up, adjusting his scarf into a fashionable knot. "No problem. I'll make myself scarce. See you later, sweetheart." He bends to kiss me briefly. I want to bite his lips off, but I know that Ron'll only see it as kinky. I don't even respond to the kiss, instead I focus all of my energy into hoping he trips going down the aisle. He doesn't. How is it possible for me to be so in love with a person that irritates me so much?!

Ron takes a seat next to me. His face is the colour of puce.

"Malfoy? Malfoy? Of all people, Malfoy? Merlin! Harry should've let him burn."

"Ron!"

"Is that why you were so distant all this time? Is that why you were helping out Lucius Malfoy's appeal? Have you been with him over this past year?"

"No!" I whisper. "I've only started to see him in September."

He looks at me with his eyebrows furrowed. "That's just two months after I filed for separation. You had to have been seeing him before that."

And Ron says he wasn't a good Auror. "We talked; nothing happened until September, until after the children went off to school." I don't feel like counting the incident at the wedding in August.

He nods absently, but then his face contorts into disgust as he realizes something. "You're – you're shagging him in my bed! Unless, unless you've completely lost your mind and you're doing it at Malfoy Manor."

I have nothing to say to this. He quietly seethes while I contemplate surreptitiously placing a Calming charm on him or better yet, a memory charm. Eventually, because I need to know, I ask,

"What are you doing here?"

"I had an interview with Johnny Bradbush, remember?" he answers automatically, in a daze. "He lives right around the corner and he said that this is his favourite place to be. He just left. I was right up there talking to him, but when he left I sat for a while thinking, thinking about us."

"He's not that bad," I find myself explaining desperately and waving away Ron's subtle dig to make me feel even guiltier. "Let me just explain, alright? I started to talk to him more because I wanted to help him out with his son –"

"Who, Scorpius? That boy wears the same disdainful expression of indifference no matter his mood. And I'll tell you why? It's because of Malfoy. The kid's got it right. He knows that his father is a right git and Scorpius is only what, fifteen or fourteen and he can see that. Why can't you see that?"

"Ron…"

"Look, I don't care what you're propensity for violence is but Malfoy makes anyone want to kick his teeth in through his smug, smarmy, pale as a fish's underbelly face. My wand has more character than him."

"Ron, we're serious."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He wants to get married."

He looks scandalized. "You're not pregnant are you?"

"What? No. We're serious."

"No, _you_ could never be serious. Don't you find it just the tad bit suspicious that he wants to marry you?"

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"At first I thought it was because he needed you for his father's appeal, but that…that was just a by-product of this plan."

"What the hell are you on about?"

"Did you know that he is under investigation?"

"Yes, I know, but I stopped that." I say with a clenched jaw, remembering the bitter conversation I had with the Minister when I accused him of micromanaging. Heading up the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is my job, not his. He should stick to schmoozing with his undersecretary.

"No, I don't mean the investigation regarding the appeal. I meant that the case involving his wife was closed, but Harry is still privately investigating it. Haven't you read up on the file? You're the Department Head."

"Why? It was a suicide. The file said so."

"Harry never believed that and Malfoy knows that. Harry thinks Malfoy killed his wife and Harry's never wrong about Malfoy. He thinks Scorpius knows something about it, but the kid's not talking. Why the heck do you think Harry encourages Scorpius friendship with Al and Lily?"

A worm of fear is gnawing its way through my stomach. I think about Malfoy's vague references to being guilty and his one quite clear admission that he killed his wife. I thought he meant figuratively. My mind starts to question it.

"Ron, that doesn't make any sense. If he killed Astoria," The name sounds foreign to me and I feel another pang of doubt as I remember how the name alone has become taboo in my relationship with Draco, "why on earth would he have a relationship with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? He might as well date Harry. Besides, he had no reason to kill her. He loved her. A lot." So much so, that I wonder if he's truly over her, but I don't tell Ron that. He has enough fuel for his fire.

"Would you give me up?"

"What?"

"If you found out tomorrow that I killed my mother, would you give me up? If I came to you now and said that I had information that Harry killed Ginny, would you give him up?"

I hesitate.

"Exactly. You're just too good, Hermione. You'd never give up me or Harry."

"No, but that's not a good enough reason –"

"No, but if you marry him," He barrels over me, "your assets would be linked and anything found in that house or property will belong to you. If say, Harry finds Astoria's wand and there're signs of foul play – you'd be under suspicion as well, never mind when you married him."

"You don't need to tell me the law. I am the law. Also, he would never do that." I ground out my mind pinging on Ron's words – '_if Harry finds Astoria's wand'_.

"Just so we're clear, are we still talking about the same guy who tried to kill Dumbledore, nearly killed me and Katie Bell? The youngest Death Eater who is also a convicted felon? Oh, and he assaulted and tried to kill Harry at least twice. And let's not forget Ginny. Oh and Bill who can blame his near face-lift to Malfoy letting Greyback into the school. I could go on."

"He's not the same guy. I can barely remember those things," I weakly protest.

"How could you forget something like that? It's like you've just forgotten how he used to be. For all I know he must have slipped you some memory-altering potion in your drink. How can you forget the monster that he used to be? Is it, is it the sex?"

"What? No. Listen, I know that Malfoy has a big –" He looks scandalized again and it takes me a moment to understand his reaction. "Ego! He has a big ego!"

"Oh!" He visibly relaxes. "I thought that you were going to finish that sentence differently. Whew!"

I give Ron a look of deepest disgust, but he doesn't appear chastised. "I know that he has a big ego and he's arrogant, but he did a lot of those things a long time ago. He is not the same person he was then. Clearly Ron, if Malfoy was the same person he was then he wouldn't touch me with a twenty-five foot pole."

"Hermione, I'll be honest with you. I'm jealous. And though we may have our differences, when he kissed you just now it took me everything not to rip his face off. But I'm saying this because I care for you, because you're my friend, you're still my wife and you're the mother of my children. I don't want you to get hurt and with Malfoy it's inevitable." My head snaps up when Ron utters my greatest fear when it comes to Draco. "He hasn't changed."

"People change, Ron. You changed."

"Ask Harry what happened four years ago to Malfoy's wife." My mind picks up the reference and he looks hopeful that he's finally making headway.

"Nothing happened. There's no record of anything like that in the files."

"It's not on record. I don't know what happened, but Harry knows. He knows something, but he didn't write up a record. He didn't even tell me. All I know is that he was called out to Malfoy Manor that night because something happened. Maybe he'll tell you if you make it an official request. Ask him."

He looks smug because I know my face must be betraying my curiosity, my doubt. For spite I fix my expression to liken concrete and I repeat my belief like a mantra.

"Draco's changed, Ron."

"He's probably using your good nature against you. I'm sure that every time he brings up his poor, dead wife you bend over backwards _or forwards_," he spits out with contempt, "to comfort him. Everyone knows you're a real bleeding heart." I'm shocked by his words because they stir something uncomfortable inside of me. "Hermione I never thought I'd say this to you, but you're a fool if you believe that he's changed." A sudden flame of anger overwhelms me as if my blood is boiling. Whatever doubt and willingness to see the other side has evaporated like alcohol and I stand up suddenly, getting slight vertigo too.

"Don't ever call me that!" I whisper fiercely to him.

I don't wait for his response nor do I consider any other person that could see me at the moment. I spin and disapparate right out of the church with my last view being a mixture of Ron and a statue of Saint Alice.

* * *

**A/N**: Right, so that was part one. Hermione goes through quite a rollercoaster of emotions in this and this is just the first half of her chapter. As usual, have faith in me guys and keep with the story. I won't let you down. Review please and let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter Nine: Hermione Part Two

**Chapter Nine: Hermione Part Two**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

* * *

Evening falls and I stand at the window of the study looking out at a freezing mist that has curled over the lake. It didn't snow today, but it will soon. The sky looks like it was ripped out of a fairy tale bedtime story – darkest blue and littered with stars. The moon, even though it's only half-illuminated at last quarter, looks brighter than I've ever seen it. The vast space beyond is tinged in purple, dark blue and indigo; dotted with the pine trees on the hills and the clouds effulgent and backlit with bright silver. It looks like a cinematographer staged it.

"How'd it go?"

I'm so startled by the sudden interruption of silence that my drink slips from my hand and shatters loudly on the hardwood floor, splashing my feet with liquid and ice.

"Merlin, Granger! What's with you?"

With a flick of my wand the glass repairs itself and another twist in the air gets the floor dry. Draco walks across the study and comes over to me at the window. He is all concern…for the wasted alcohol.

"My word, witch! You can't go around wasting hundred-year old bottles of firewhiskey!" He says as he moves the bottle of firewhiskey away from the edge of the desk where it'll be less likely to fall to harm.

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking."

He refocuses his face into sympathy towards me, probably pretending that my face is the bottle.

"Sorry love. It's just that you don't see these every day." He gestures to the bottle, which he pushes even further to the middle of the desk like I'm some spastic octopus that is unable to control my arms. "But are you hurt, dear? I can heal minor cuts."

"I'm fine."

"You're physically fine, I'm sure, but clearly something is on your mind. You're standing here in the dark, drinking, alone. What are you, an alcoholic? Sickle for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are worth much more than that."

He smiles and moves closer to me. The moonlight brightens his smile and side-lights his face. "What? You'll take payment in a pound of flesh?" He smiles cheekily at me, but I'm not in the mood for his perverse sense of humour.

"You read out the Shakespeare I take it?"

"Yes. Thank you for introducing me to it. I really liked the Merchant of Venice and Macbeth, despite the gross misrepresentation of witches. We should visit more churches, by the way. Strange, but I find the place…relaxing." He could not be happier that Ron now knows.

"You've been converted?"

"Hardly. My religion is you; your body is my temple." He smiles saucily and kisses me lightly on the lips and I feel under my skin a fever, that burning desire that I have for him, that I find so hard to control. I tamp it down forcefully and don't respond to the kiss.

He tilts my chin up and stares at me. "What's the matter? You look…what did Weasley tell you? What did he tell you…about me?"

I was never the best at Ligilimens, but I know that he is. How good is he? Would I know when he enters my mind? Would he know if I lied to him? If I tried to hide my doubts, would he know?

"He didn't say anything that I couldn't handle. He ranted and raved for a while, but it's not his decision to make. It's my life."

He looks at me suspiciously. From the shadows of the room and the half-light caused by the moon, when he furrows his brow in confusion, he looks almost…demonic. I tilt his head more to the light.

"Hermione, what's going on? Why are you acting this way? You seem…on edge."

"I'm fine. It's the drink, is all. It's not my usual. You know I prefer vodka, but I didn't have any. I don't know why I bothered to drink this."

He looks at me a bit unsure for a moment, not believing the smile I've plastered to my face. I have got to get a grip. Ron is getting inside my head.

"Okay, alright. You want me to draw you a bath?"

"That sounds nice."

When we are settled comfortably at the opposite ends of the tub, my legs over his, I feel more comfortable, more relaxed. The confrontation with Ron seemed like it happened over a million years ago. It's not a good idea to drink alone. You'll think too much and then you'll get sad. It's hard to think now when Draco is massaging my foot. It feels so good. Draco ruins it with conversation.

"So, Weasley will come around then?"

"Probably not. He'll never accept you."

"And they call me prejudiced…though I suppose, I'm the one with the Death Mark on his arm, so… If Weasley knows, I can presume that Potter will soon be kicking down my door for sleeping with his other wife."

"One of these days you'll make that joke in front of Ginny and I won't protect you when she hexes you into next week. Besides, Harry already knew what was going on. He's been a bit cool with me lately. I hardly see him and when I do, conversation is strained. He needs time to work it out, work out that you're not going anywhere. Everyone will have to deal with this in their own time. Heck, it took me months to come to terms with it, so I don't expect anyone to start patting me on the back yet."

I twist around and lean against him. Maybe it's the warm water, the things he's doing with his hands or maybe it's the residual alcohol in my body, but I feel reckless.

"Draco, if we're going to get married one day, I need to know…I need to know what happened to your wife."

He stiffens a bit and not in the way he already was when I sat between him.

"You already know what happened." I can't see his face, but from his tone and pitch I can tell that he's trying hard to school his emotions into a sense of calm.

"I mean, what happened…four years ago?"

"You're the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Didn't you pull the file?"

"There is no file and you know this. Don't play games."

He stops playing with my breasts and moves his hands to massage my shoulders. My back stiffens which he mistakes for tension and not latent fear. His hands press deeper into my skin. "I've heard a few mentions of it here and there, so I've gotten the impression that something happened to Astoria." I continue. At the mention of the name his thumbs dig deep into the flesh. It pains, yet feels incredibly good.

He takes so long to answer that I wonder if he's making up a lie.

"Four years ago the Carrows were executed. Every time an execution happens, you know how the masses get. It's like frenzy, like hysteria. Every time that someone gets executed I relive my trial, my entire past. It happened when Dolohov got executed as well. It happened with Father. Everyone suddenly remembers that hey, there's a Death Eater that got away. My life is splayed open. Every single bad thing that I ever did or they thought I did resurfaces. It makes people remember, when all I want is to forget."

I say nothing. His thumbs massage the back of my neck as the rest of his fingers wrap around my neck. I keep very still.

"I suppose that's why Mother moved to France after a while. She only escaped jail because she helped Potter; otherwise she'd be just as dead as Father is now because of the law. She'd be an accomplice, aiding and abetting, conspiring. It didn't matter if she didn't do anything. She was married to a Death Eater – her fate was linked to his. Thank Merlin for Potter, no?" He says drily.

My breath hitches to get such a direct acknowledgement of his reference to the law. Ron's words ping in my mind.

"Anyway, there are some that take up the mantle of continuing the job that the Dark Lord left unfinished,"

"The neo-Death Eaters," I say and I'm surprised that my voice is still operational.

"Yes. And there are those that are on the other side of that coin – the ones that think justice was not properly doled out to the Dark Lord's supporters, the ones that _hunt_ Death Eaters. They take it into their hands to…set things right."

I have this sense of dread. I want to tell him to stop, but I need to know what happened.

"The climate was manic, anxious. The Carrows were to be executed soon. People were calling for a re-trial for me. Why did I serve only five years, they asked. They don't know that five years in Azkaban is five years too long." His fingers deepen and I can feel his thumbs pressing hard on the top of my spine. I turn my head a bit and the pressure releases. His hands slide down to my shoulders.

"It was Scorpius' birthday. He'd turned nine. Astoria and Pansy took him out to get new robes. He wandered off. He was nine. He had the attention span of a goldfish. By the time he got back a ruckus had broken out in the street. Some kids threw bricks caked in mud at Madame Malkin's shop with the intention that the bricks hit the filth that were inside, my wife and Pansy, that is."

I am perfectly sure that the irony is not lost on Draco. I'm sure that he knows that this is something he would have done to me years ago.

"The kids who did it ran away, but the older witches and wizards that were around came out to support the act. They got into it with Pansy and Astoria. Scorpius returned just in time to hear someone call me something bad, nothing that I'm not used to hearing, but to him it was blasphemous at the time to talk ill of the centre of his world. He punched a man and broke his nose. Potter came to visit me then to talk about the incident. He was quite nice actually. He even gave Astoria tips on how to deal with jealousy from the first born when the second child comes."

I stiffen completely and he notices.

"Yes, she was seven months pregnant at the time. I didn't want Scorpius to think that I was angry with him," he continues as if he didn't just drop a bomb of a revelation on me, "so I took him to Austria for the day. Astoria was feeling a bit ill, so she stayed at home. Scorpius wanted to see his grandmother so we stopped over in France. He asked to stay the weekend because when we got there his cousins, Alex and Vee, were there. I returned home alone.

"As soon as my Portkey lands I know that something is wrong. The place has an atmosphere of stillness, like the echo of an alarm that says something just happened, like the silence after a storm. I go inside and when I enter the foyer I see one of the house elves, dead." I notice he's speaking in present tense, re-living the horrors in the now. "I run through and stop short as if I've run into a wall, but it's only my shock. She fought back, really she did. My son…he couldn't have survived something like that. He was so small."

"Stop,"

"She fought so hard," His voice is cracking up and I can't bear it. "She fought so hard. The blood, the blood…there was blood everywhere. The child…he couldn't survive something like that."

"Stop it, please. Draco –"

"She fought so hard, but she didn't fight hard enough. She was strong, though. She was still alive. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to do. Should I move her or not? I didn't know what to do. I panicked. It was after nine at night. I remember the timing because I didn't know if whether Potter would be at the Ministry or his house. I sent a patronus to Potter. I didn't know what to do. I tried to heal her, but I wasn't good enough. She wasn't even crying, she just moaned that she was in so much pain. She begged me to kill her. There was so much blood…She just…she just wanted to forget."

He is crying hard now. I get up and put on the shower. The cold water falls icy and mercilessly on us and I pull him up into an embrace. He rests his head on my shoulder and weeps. I rub his back. The part of my brain not concerned about his debilitating onslaught of grief wonders how Ron could be so wrong. There is no way that Draco would kill his wife. He has suffered too much. I understand what he meant when he said that the devil had been to his house – twice.

Eventually he sobers up and I take off the shower. Water is spilling onto the tiles with every movement we make.

"Draco…"

He suddenly kisses me hard and long. When he pulls back I kiss the salty tears that have left tracks on his face. Eventually we make it onto the bed. The sheets get damp but I don't care. I let him do whatever he wants. For a brief moment Ron's words come back to me – _I'm sure that every time he brings up his poor, dead wife you bend over backwards or forwards to comfort him_. I dismiss the thought and kiss Draco fiercely, my fingers digging into the sheets. I have never been this open and I have never felt this close to anyone. I now know that before I used to feel like, like an arrow that's been pulled back, all that potential energy waiting impatiently to be let out. With Draco, I feel like an arrow that's been shot, the kinetic energy whistling around me. I can barely catch my breath, my knuckles white. I don't trust myself to talk, let alone walk. I feel like I overdosed on him. This is what it feels like to be high, isn't it? I look over at him and he's breathing hard and his eyes are wide open, pupils dilated. He went through extreme despair and euphoria in such close proximity that it's obvious his brain is having trouble figuring out what to feel – absolute pain or complete pleasure. Why is it that pain and pleasure are always so close?

* * *

We hear the screaming brakes of the Hogwarts Express before we see it and when we do it comes to a relieved rest, releasing a sigh of dense, white steam. Harry and Ron stand off to one side. Ginny is not here. She's at home baking up a storm of goodies for the dinner later that the entire Weasley/Potter brood will attend. I'm standing a couple of feet away from Harry and Ron as if I don't know them, like we're simple strangers at a train station. Draco is standing right next to me as he leans casually against one of the columns. I don't know if this is a sign of how things are to be, whether Ron and Harry have already clearly chosen their sides. A very pregnant Luna, who decided to tag along with Harry and pick up her only god-daughter, stands between us, shifting her weight from side to side and humming contentedly to edge out the tension among us four.

"Mum!" I hear them before I see them because of the shifting steam and a broad grin stretches my face. I missed my darlings so much!

"Munchkins!" I hear Ron say at the same time that I shout out, "Darlings!" When the mist clears I see Hugo and Rose standing there looking confused, like they don't know who to run to – Mum or Dad.

"Hey Sweethearts! I missed you so much!" I smile brightly at them with arms wide open. Beside me I hear Draco clear his throat and shame descends on me when I realize what I was doing. I wanted them to choose me. I put my children in an awkward position simply because I didn't want Ron to 'win'. Never have I felt like I failed as a parent than in this very moment. I look over shamefaced at Ron who is blushing hard. I don't know if it's because of his own sheer mortification after realizing that he just did the same thing or because he feels embarrassed for me. Simultaneously, we make steps towards our children who look visibly grateful that they're not forced to choose, at least not at this particular moment. They both throw their arms around us. I don't even notice when Draco, Harry and Luna come up to join us.

"Uncle Harry! Ms. Luna! Wow! You're as big as a house and you're only four months?" My son who has no cover for his mouth actually says this. I look at Luna, but she only smiles broadly, proudly.

"I'm having twins!"

"Really?"

The kids get lost in rubbing Luna's belly when she tells them that rubbing her stomach seven days before Christmas means that they'll have a perfect Christmas day. I'm tempted to rub her belly myself.

"Would you like to rub my belly, Malfoy?"

What an odd question! The look on his face nearly kills me and for one brief moment Ron, Harry and I are united when we snicker at Draco's discomfort. Luna grabs his hand and forces him to rub her stomach. He looks like he's about to die in a paroxysm of utter distress. I then suddenly remember his story last night and I realize why this is bothering him so much and it's not just because of his awkward history with Luna. I pull away his hand from Luna's vice grip on him and give her an apologetic smile. I look up at Ron and Harry who have stopped chuckling and are looking at me like the traitor that I am. I look at my children and Hugo doesn't notice anything only continuing to rub Luna's belly. But Rose, Rose! Sharp as a dragon's tooth that girl! She's looking at Draco and me shrewdly.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy."

"Hello, Rose darling. Did you get the scarf that I sent you?"

Ron's head snaps up to look at Draco. I know the scarf that he's talking about. It's similar to the one that he gave me. It's a beautiful burgundy, silk scarf that's strengthened by gold thread and unicorn hair being interwoven with it – it looks great with Rose's sorrel coloured hair. I don't even realize I'm doing it until I feel my fingers brushing the smooth wood of my wand in my pocket, ready for any attack that Ron may fling at Draco.

"Yes, I did. Thank you very much." Her tone is cool, but Draco is accustomed and was probably expecting worse, so he is satisfied with her reaction for now.

"And Hugo did you get the notes I sent for you?"

"Oh yeah, Mr. Malfoy! I passed Music with a breeze! They're saying that I'm a prodigy!"

"That's great. Maybe you can play something for me this Christmas."

Ron looks shell-shocked. I feel horrible. Why is Draco proving Ron right and being a truly horrible person right now? Why does he have to compete for their attention with their own father? Ron doesn't help matters when he jumps up and says,

"Guess who's going to the Qudditch La Liga finals this new year's eve with me?"

The children's eyes widen. "Really, Dad?" Hugo practically screams; his excitement apparently having shattered his ability to modulate his voice.

"Yep. I'm taking you guys with me!"

News to me, but I don't say anything. Things are tense enough as it is. I don't need to start a fight now. The children's attention is now solely focused on their father and I glance over at Draco who looks genuinely put out. I realize something then. He genuinely likes and wants to spend time with my children, just as how I honestly like and want to spend time with Scorpius. Maybe…maybe this can work after all. It's a step in the right direction at least. Speaking of which…

"Where is Scorpius?"

As soon as I say that I see James and Lily bounding up to their father. Lily shrieks when she sees Luna and runs to hug her before she even hugs her father. James, now in full-blown cool, sulky teenager mode gives his father an upward nod. Harry looks awfully put out, but it's the fact that Draco does not even smirk at this is what shocks me. I suppose he knows what it's like to be snubbed by your own son.

"Is that the way you greet your father?" I chastise him. "Give him a hug! There are people who'll kill to hug your father."

James reluctantly hugs his Dad, but I know that he really wants to. His friends in the background tease him from afar. Harry looks up at them. They scuttle away like terrified cockroaches.

"Where's Al?" Harry asks and James pulls away with a look of pure glee in his eyes. He looks like he just got the latest town gossip.

"Al? Al's um…quarantined himself." He says with the biggest grin I've ever seen.

"What? Why?"

"He's convinced that Scorpius gave it to him too. Don't know why he thinks that," he says in a tone that means he clearly has some theories, though.

"What? What did Scorpius give him?" Draco asks. At that same moment I see a plump witch with short, dark blonde hair approach Draco. The look on the witch's face is one of pure contempt.

"Malfoy," She says, disrespectfully not bothering to call him Mister.

"Yes?"

"I am Divinia Hiddleston, the Chief of On-Board Services for the Hogwarts Express. It seems that your son, Scorpius Malfoy, has contracted Spattergroit."

"What!" Draco and I shout in unison. Hiddleston ignores us. She turns to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, sir," she smiles broadly at Harry, her tone simpering. "I'm afraid your youngest son, Albus, has locked himself in a compartment because he insists that he most likely has the Spattergoit as well because he says he's been in close contact with Scorpius Malfoy."

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?" Draco shouts; the vein in his forehead rises dramatically. Harry and Ron look confused. James looks like he wants to keel over from laughing. Lily looks forlorn. And Rose and Hugo? Their expressions have been suspiciously schooled to neutral, though Rose is watching Draco keenly; silently judging him. They know what's going. I have my fair suspicions, but they _definitely_ know what's going on.

Hiddleston again ignores Draco's outburst. She doesn't even want to look him in the eye. Instead, she focuses all her attention on Harry.

"Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to follow me. You too, Malfoy." She addresses him like a dog, but still does not spare him a look. She turns and Harry and Draco are forced to follow her. We watch them disappear in a cloud of steam towards the train.

Ron walks a bit away from me and I see him pull James along. I can see them whispering and Ron's expression growing more and more scandalized by the moment. I look over at Rose, Hugo and Lily but they sense that I too want to interrogate and they scatter.

"Hey! Get back here!"

"We're just gonna say goodbye to our friends!" They shout and escape, using the mist as cover.

"Hmmph. I don't know how far they think they can run. They have to come back, I'm their ride home." I mumble to myself.

"Spattergroit, huh?" Luna says and makes me jump. I forgot that she was there. "They used to say that a person needed to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about his throat and stand naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes in order to cure it. That was a lie."

"Yeah. Now they have a cure. I heard it uses the venom of the Sweet Temptation snake as a main ingredient."

"The Sweet Temptation snake? Is that so? How odd. I saw Theodore Nott about four years ago in Crete. He came to me there to ask for some research notes on the snake. He was collecting a whole set of those snakes. I asked him if those snakes were a big part of MIA's renowned Spattergroit cure and he said no, they don't use any type of poison in the cure. Those snakes were to be used in a potion for memory alteration. He said that they were trying to develop a potion to help a most unfortunate woman. I always wondered who that was."

I look over at Luna and she looks serene as usual, like she didn't just completely skewer my world with her careless comment.

Four years ago? Memory alteration and not Spattergroit? Why would Draco lie to me? Draco's words reverberate in my mind. _She just wanted to forget…_ Why would he lie to me about something like that? The only conclusion I can come to is that something went wrong with that potion. Ron's words come back to me. _Harry thinks Malfoy killed his wife and Harry's never wrong about Malfoy_. I hope to any deity willing to listen that this time Harry is dead wrong.

* * *

**A/N**: Thoughts? Comments?


	16. Chapter Ten: Malfoy

**Chapter Ten: Malfoy**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Poor Scorpius is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to these novel feelings. Luckily for him his father knows all about adjusting…Interesting chapter up ahead. Only a couple of my reviewers have seen this coming – I've tried to be subtle.

* * *

I'm standing at the threshold of the train compartment looking in on my son like he's some sort of exotic beast on display in his natural habitat. I'm not going to lie. He looks horrible. There is no safe place on his body to rest my eyes. He's hideous. I wrap my black scarf around my mouth and nose and now I look like a rather dashing, rather English bandit. He's lying on a cot, breathing shallowly; his eyes lidded. There are huge lime-sized buboes, throbbing dangerously on his face and more than likely his underarms and groin which may account for the reason he's in pyjamas lying spread-eagled on the cot.

"Do you have a fever?"

He jumps a bit when he hears my voice and looks at me with grateful eyes and as shameful as it is I'd have given him Spattergroit myself if I'd known that my son would look at me like that again – like he's happy to see me. He nods subtly.

"Are you dizzy? Do you have a headache? Muscle pain? Nausea? Ear aches?" He nods again. "Sore throat? Has the disease spread to your throat so that you can't speak?"

"I can speak."

"Good. You're lucky I was carrying a sample from earlier today. I have the help you need right here." I pull out from my robes a thin vial filled with a bright pink coloured liquid. I step into the room and conjure a leather armchair for me to sit on. It takes up quite a bit of space in the tiny compartment serving as a quarantine station.

"Aren't you going to give it to me?"

"They want me to give some to Albus Potter." I say, not bothering to answer his question as yet. He looks at me quizzically. "Albus Potter claims that he may be infected with Spattergroit as well because he has been in 'contact' with you in the last two days, which as you know, is when the virus is most contagious, before the boils show up suddenly. Strange, because you would think that they'd call Rose Weasley's name in this mess since she's close to Albus as well. Why are they only concerned about you and Albus?"

His eyes open wide and he turns his head away from me to stare at the ceiling. "I'm really glad that the virus hasn't spread to your throat because now it means that you can tell me what's going on."

He doesn't say anything, only continues to stare at the ceiling like it'll hopefully fall on him, killing him instantly and thus, offering a way out of this unavoidable conversation.

"I don't know what he's talking about." He says after a while, still staring up at that bloody ceiling.

"Okay, listen. You never knew your Aunt Bella –"

"Thank Merlin for that." He mutters. I ignore him.

" – but I should let you know that I spent a lot of time with her. She taught me a lot of things. One of the things she taught me was that I should have respect for my family members. If she asked me a question, I knew it was in my best interest to answer her and to answer her right then and there truthfully." (I don't bother to tell him that the one time that I did not answer her truthfully was the most definitive moment in my life – the night I saved Potter, Weasley-that-idiot and Hermione). Still he stares at the roof. Annoyance ripples through me. "Scorpius, look at me. Look at me!"

He turns to me with his eyes wide with shock. He's probably forgotten that I can raise my voice at him. "I've been letting you get away with disrespecting me and being rude to me and ignoring me. This ends today. When I ask you a question, you answer me and you answer me truthfully. I don't want to have to do to you what my mother did to me – tie me down and force Veritaserum down my throat. I don't care if it's illegal. You are my son and you will do as I tell you. Do you understand me?"

He nods dumbly and I feel horrible. I can practically hear Father telling me the same speech eons ago when I was a teenager like Scorpius. That's not the memory of Father that I want to have. This is not the memory of me that I want Scorpius to take away, but I must do what I must.

"What's going on with you and Albus? I thought that you weren't talking to Rose and Albus anymore."

"We made up. At Ms. Luna's wedding." He says sulkily. His tone is bordering on rude.

"Is that why you befriended Lily Potter?"

He turns his head to me again, his eyes wide like saucers.

"What? You think I didn't know that you had no interest in that girl?"

"Don't make it sound like that. She's alright. She's my friend." He says with all the passion of sawdust.

"She's a friend of convenience."

"Like how Mrs. Weasley is your friend of convenience?" He snarls at me.

"Watch it! Know your place, child." His lips tighten at my tone, but I soften a bit. I take a deep breath and tamp down my anger. "I'm not going to lie to you because I want you to be honest with me as well. Initially, I did start speaking to Mrs. Weasley with the intention that she could be useful to me. I know her soft spot. I came to the Boxing Day lunch last year with the intention that maybe I could use her. I was angry with her when I left on Boxing Day, but I wasn't that angry. I left you there on purpose. I knew that she would check out your grandfather to see if it was true that he had truly changed. I knew that she would feel sorry for me because of what was going on with your grandfather, with you, with how your mother died. I knew that she would want to help me. It's what she does."

"You…you…you used me and Mother to gain her sympathy? You manipulated her?"

"I didn't have to _do_ anything to gain her sympathy. I simply showed her my life. She _offered_ to help me, to become friends with me. I just didn't push her away." He's wearing an expression of extreme contempt. It's nothing that I'm not used to. "However, it's not like that now. I genuinely like her. I…I love her."

"But…But Mother…"

"I love your mother very much. In fact I know that I can never stop loving her. You're still young and I know what you're thinking. Everything for a teenager is extreme. You have a crush, an infatuation and you find it hard to even think that you might 'love' another person. You are convinced that the world will end if you and this person go your separate ways. The truth is though, that the world doesn't end. It only feels that way. I'm not being callous. _My_ world stopped when your mother died. _The_ world didn't stop. But now I love Hermione a lot. I plan on marrying her. I know it's going to be tough for a lot of individuals involved especially Rose and Hugo and you, but sometimes you can't help the one you fall for. It was…it was very difficult for me to finally come to that understanding and accept it. Do you…do you understand what I mean by that?"

"I do."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. I do. Rose and Hugo aren't stupid. They've seen it coming. Their parents weren't happy, she told me. They're not stupid though. They noticed a marked difference in Mrs. Weasley when you started to talk to her. They saw it coming. The letters, the kindness, the attention, the friendship. They've seen it coming, they don't like it, but they'll understand I suppose. It's like you said; you can't help the one you fall for."

"Is it because you feel that way about a particular person?" I don't say the name. I don't need to.

Reluctantly and slowly he nods and I feel like someone just kicked me in the chest. I've been in denial for so long that when he finally admits it, it still comes as a shock and I already knew. He's crying now; the tear tracks like a meandering river over the huge buboes on his face. He looks horrid. He always had an ugly cry-face and this Spattergroit is not helping the situation.

"I just...I-I…" He's stuttering and sniffling and trying to regulate his tone, but now more than ever he's just a child. I want to hug him and tell him it's alright, but I can't. I can't touch him right now and the irony is that even at his ugliest, this is the one time that I know for sure he'd let me. "I just hate him so much."

Okay. I was not expecting that.

"Um…I'm sorry, but…what?"

"Do you know what he told me? He told me that dealing with me is like dealing with a terrorist because apparently I just don't give a shit. That's not true! He thinks I don't care about him at all. That's not true. I take so much flak for being friends with him."

"Why?"

"Why? Why? Father…a lot of people suspect that he might be a particular way. And I talk to him. For them it's like walk like a unicorn, talk like a unicorn, you're a unicorn."

Could he have chosen a worse animal in this analogy? How stereotypical. It's not exactly supporting his point…or maybe it is.

"I take flak for him. I hit a fellow Slytherin for him. Do you know how they treated me after that? I was an outcast. They drew pictures on the toilet walls of me with a pink Death Mark prancing around with a broom shoved... For Quidditch practice they sent me out of the locker rooms for fear that I'd try to––I don't even know what they thought. And then _he_ stops talking to _me_. I had to listen to Lily blather on about whatever the heck she blathers on about just so that I could get a chance to see him, to talk to him and explain why this is so difficult for me. I've begged him, Father. I've literally begged him to understand. I push him away, I pull him back. I push him again. I pull him back. He just doesn't understand. I won't have it as easy as him. He's Harry Potter's son and me? I'm yours."

Apparently the insult was built in and he needed no further exposition that his birthright was inherently bad lucky. I've accepted it. To be born with a Malfoy name now makes you little more than basement-dwelling critters. I've done this to him. This is the legacy I've left him – a good deal of money, but a name that's dirtier than drain water. I suppose he thinks the universe has personally invested her time in trying to make his life a living hell by adding to the mix this situation with Harry Potter's son. The only thing worse than that is…well, contracting Spattergroit.

"I wish…I wish…Father I wish I didn't feel this way. I really do. It would have been so much easier if I had just fancied Rose. I spoke to Mrs. Weasley –"

"Wait! Hermione knew about this?!"

"You…you're not…you weren't the easiest person to talk to after Mother got sick and then you completely shut everyone out when she died. In your mind it may look like you were trying, but in reality you were doing a bang up job of pushing me away."

I am shocked. Words cannot reach me as I mentally review the last four years with my son. Did I really push him away? Yes, yes I did. I was always quick to send him away. But I'm not the only one to blame. I may have pushed, but he pulled away too.

"I've tried, but still I can't be different. I still feel the same way. I feel…dirty. Why can't I just _not_ feel this way? Do you know what it feels like to feel so ashamed, like the whole world will judge you negatively?"

I hope that's a rhetorical question. If not, it's quite clear then that the virus has spread to his brain and he's forgotten who he's talking to. Rhetorical or not, I answer him.

"Of course I know that feeling. Every time that I'm with Hermione I have that feeling and I'm positive that she feels the same way too. It's not something that goes away just like that – the feeling of shame, feeling like you're doing something wrong, that you're going against everything that you were taught to be right and wrong. Of course I know what that feels like. But at the end of the day it'll take a lot of bravery to be with that someone that makes you happy. It's not something us Slytherins are known for, but at some point in time you'll have to move through your own terror and that's the definition of bravery. It doesn't involve swords and dragons or even Dark Lords all the time. It can come in very every day moments like choosing to be a toerag to the person you admire the most or choosing to respect them and show them that you're willing, willing to do what it takes. I don't expect you to get that now. You're only fourteen. It took me years and I've been known to break records – youngest Death Eater in history, you know."

I smile at him and then I remember he can't see it because of my scarf tied around my face. He offers me a poor attempt at a smirk, like he wanted to but got tired halfway through. We sit silently for a few moments. I hope he's taking in what I just said.

"Did you see him?"

"Who?"

"Al,"

"No, not as yet. He's with his father. I suppose he's having a similar conversation. He thinks he's been infected. Does he…does he have basis for that belief?" I ask cautiously.

He doesn't say anything, only looks at me with a schooled blank expression.

He's looking for my reaction. Honestly, I feel highly uncomfortable. Prison has made me very adverse to the idea. I suppose it's because I've only seen a violent version. I know that my son could never do something like that to someone he cares about, not like what those cowards in prison did to a few unfortunate wizards. I forcibly school my face into blankness. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter how I feel; this is my son.

"You know, someone once told me that the people who are the most judgemental are often the people who are the most terrified of being judged."

"You're not disgusted? You're not disappointed?"

"I'd be lying if I said no." I can see in his eyes his own disappointment at my words. "But this is something that I need to move through as well. Why didn't you come to me? Is that the reason you've been treating me like you have? We used to be close. Why didn't you tell me?" He turns his head to the ceiling again and his face hardens. Whatever little understanding we may have been getting is slipping away. I must tread carefully.

"The rumours you heard, they're just that: rumours, but I don't like them. And I admit that my reaction to them may be…off putting for someone like you, but at the end of the day you're my son and I'd always choose you. I'd always choose my family. I'd support you. Our family has a history of not being accepting, but I'm trying to change that. Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, has taught me that I don't have to hate another just to carve out an identity for myself and I hope that you can reach that level of understanding one day."

He takes a while to respond while I sit and wonder if I'm pushing him even further from me.

"I wanted to speak to you. I really did, but you were cut off from me. Mother got ill and you became mean and stony-faced and dismissive. You turned into everything they were saying about you at school. I know I didn't help matters with the way I'd been acting, but…I don't know. When Al told me who you really were I was angrier at the fact that I hadn't seen all the signs before. I was angry at you for hiding it from me. And it all fell into place that the reason Mother got ill was because of you." His words feel like an ice-pick to my heart and I already knew how he felt. Still, the pain of it never dulls. "And then Mother died and I didn't know if you…if you had…"

The moment has come.

"You didn't know if I what?"

"I saw you, Father."

"What did you see?"

"I'm not sure. I saw you standing over her in the tub. I saw you with the razor in your hand, but I'm not sure…I'm not sure." The tears have started rolling down his cheeks again and I don't know what to say.

"I…I didn't do anything wrong." I finally say. I must choose my words carefully. I look him in the eye and repeat what I've been saying to myself from the moment that Astoria died. "You should believe me when I say that I didn't do anything wrong. I loved your mother and I still do. I never wanted to hurt her. Everything I did, I did it for her. I loved your mother. I didn't do anything wrong. Do you believe me?"

He stares at me for a long time before he nods and I feel a wave of relief. I get up and unscrew the vial as I walk over to him. He gulps the potion and drops back down on the bed like a stone because that one act of lifting his head to drink has him dizzy and fatigued. He looks up at me confused.

"Come on, drink up. That's only a half-dose. I don't have enough on me for the full dose."

"That's the only one on you now? Why'd you give it to me then? You should have given _Al_ the full dose."

My son looks like the visual representation of pain. There are teenaged, pimply-faced Blast-ended Skrewts that look better than him right now and still he's willing to give up his chance at relief to Albus Potter. He's a better man than I am.

"You'll feel a little more relief: less pain in your muscles and no more dizziness, but you need to get the full dosage of two potions a day for the next week in order for those boils to disappear and not leave any marks. This amount will only slightly reduce the pain of them."

"Give the rest to him. He might really have the Spattergroit."

"Okay. I um…I want you to think about what we talked about very closely. Also, I'm sorry if I haven't been the person that you wanted me to be, but I'm trying."

"I'm trying too, Father. I never meant to disappoint you or Mother."

I don't know what to say. I don't trust myself to speak. I might end up crying so I nod stiffly and turn to walk out when I catch a brief glimpse of brown hair. My entire body stiffens. How long was she there? How much did she hear? When I step out into the corridor, no one is there, but I know that she is here. I can smell her perfume. I keep right on walking to the compartment three doors down.

Potter is in the compartment with his son. He too has a scarf tied around his face. It's the same scarf that Lovegood had on earlier – a beautiful bright green.

"Mr. Malfoy," Albus jumps up nervously. He doesn't have any boils on his skin, but I know that if he is infected this is the time that he'd be the most contagious. Prevention is better than cure in any case.

"Drink this. It's only a half-dose, but I'll get you some more later if a Healer checks out that you really do have Spattergroit."

"It's alright, I'll see to it." Potter says as Albus gulps down the rest of the potion. I turn to look at him and his expression looks resigned. I bet that never in a million years would he think that things could ever be like this – Hermione is with me and his son is… I can barely complete the thought. It's a tripped-up other world is what it's like. I turn to leave, but when I reach the door I hear him say,

"Thank you, Malfoy. I appreciate it. Thanks for being there and for…understanding." His words hold a lot of meaning and my mind wonders briefly if we could ever be friends.

Probably not…but one never knows. I mean, look at Hermione and me.

He follows me outside and I have a brief conversation with that bitch: the chief of on-board services, plus Hermione, Lovegood, Potter and Weasley-that-idiot, where I tell them that Scorpius and Albus can be removed to the hospital for further check-ups. The Express however, needs to get back to Hogwarts.

I don't have a car, nor can I drive and Scorpius can barely walk let alone hold onto me to apparate to the hospital. The result: Potter and I will get in his car and we'll take Scorpius and Albus to the hospital. Hermione'll tag along in case Potter and I decided to hex each other to death for old times' sake. Lovegood will travel with us because she's pregnant and can't or rather shouldn't apparate like that anyway. The other children will squeeze into Hermione's car with Weasley-that-idiot driving and they'll travel home from there. But then Rose and Hugo insist they want to come along. We spent a good ten minutes arguing over seating arrangements. Luckily, we're not too far from St. Mungo's.

This is the most awkward car ride yet. With our scarves wrapped around faces as precaution against pathogens from Scorpius and Albus, we all look like we're going to stylishly bomb some government building. The good news? Rose is being marginally nicer to me now that she knows I didn't kill Scorpius once I found out about his indiscretion. The bad news? My future stepson has the subtlety of an anvil.

"Are you going to divorce Dad and marry Mr. Malfoy, Mum?"

And people say children aren't evil. Potter, Merlin bless him, mashes a hard brake and we all pelt forward. His left hand shoots out to block Lovegood from going through the windscreen, but his protective instinct still doesn't stop Hermione from ripping him a new pair. I know she's trying a distraction technique and I have never been more grateful for her having that self-righteous stick lodged up her arse. She manages to turn a slight tsk tsk into a five minute tirade and by the time she's done everyone has forgotten about Hugo's question, focussing instead on the benefits of not throwing ourselves from the car just to get away from her nagging.

We reach the hospital and the Healers insist that Scorpius stay overnight for observation; Albus too. By the time we've finished up the paperwork Ginny Weasley has arrived and Potter now has the awkward task of explaining exactly how if one is unknowingly infected with Spattergroit one can give it to another through innocent close contact, such as shaking hands or kissing. I see her look over at me and her beady eyes narrow even further as she no doubts concocts a reason as to why _I_ am to blame. I decide to make myself scarce.

"Love," I pull Hermione aside quickly from her position at the nurses' station, "I have to go. I know the children will be here and you'll be busy for Christmas with them, so you let me know when you have the time to see me."

"Umm…" She starts up unsure. Her eyes look uncertain; her smile fake. "I was thinking that maybe I can come up to your house some day over the holidays."

Something is wrong. Hermione never wants to come to my house and for good reason. She was tortured there, literally.

"You want to come over some time?"

"Yes." Her mouth says one thing, but I can see the unwillingness in her eyes. She heard Scorpius and me talking. She knows something is up. I have to fix this. I cannot let her find out what I did.

"Sure. Let me know when you're ready." I smile and look around before I kiss her briefly on the forehead. She only gives me a watery smile in return.

I leave the hallway and head to the lift where I see Lovegood. She holds it for me. It amazes me that she has yet to attempt to use an Unforgivable curse on me. She's a better person that I am.

"Do you always have Spattergroit potions on you?" She asks me in that cool, calm voice that makes me think she sniffs glue or something.

"Yes." I don't bother to elaborate that I created the damned thing and it's therefore not as odd an occurrence as she might think. Not that she could give anybody any talk for being odd.

"Hmm. Hermione was telling me that she heard that the venom of the Sweet Temptation snake is used in it, but I know that the venom of those snakes is used in memory charms. Theodore Nott, the Director of MIA Potions confirmed it himself."

"You told her that?"

"Mmhmm. She seemed shocked at the idea. I admit that the venom of…" She continues speaking, but I don't hear her. The lift dings open and I walk out on her, leaving her in the background with a few quick strides.

Hermione knows that I lied to her. She was listening in on my conversation with Scorpius. How much did she hear? I bet she heard enough to suddenly want to come over to my house, not to spend quality time, but because she's starting to investigate me.

I leave the hospital and apparate to my house with one intention on my mind. I must clean that house from top to bottom and get rid of any evidence.

* * *

**A/N**: This story is more character-driven with a few bits of twists than it is a focus on romance (I'm not that good at writing romance), though there is romance. Two more chapters left. But anyway, what are your thoughts on this chapter?


	17. Chapter Eleven: Hermione Part One

**Chapter Eleven: Hermione Part One**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: To all of my guest reviewers – thank you for reviewing! I appreciate your comments.

This was a loooong chapter, so of course I had to split it in two.

* * *

Everybody knows.

Well, just family and friends, but everyone I care about knows and their reactions to my relationship with Draco range from mild indifference (Luna) to vociferous contempt (Ron). Harry, Rose and Hugo fall somewhere in the middle wavering between passive acceptance and controlled hostility. For the most part, I sometimes wish that I was in Al's position where everyone knows his secret, but they just pretend that they don't know anything at all. They all seem to have contracted a case of selective amnesia as to how he contracted Spattergroit in the first place.

I wish they could be so forgiving with Draco's past. They make it a habit of reminding me in sometimes subtle, sometimes glaring-neon-billboard-sign ways that Draco has been demonstrably unreliable at being good. I wish that they could simply forget about it, but it's like his actions have been torched onto their cornea, lodged in their minds like a bullet could be lodged in someone's brain. I've tried to not serve them reminders and to that end I've kept an extremely low profile with Draco over the last two weeks. I haven't seen him since the train station and we've only contacted each other through letters. My theory is to gradually re-introduce him officially in my life after Ron and I have worked out our situation. In the meanwhile, I listen to them re-hash Draco's every crime and I say nothing, only wishing that they could all get hit on their heads with coconuts and suffer TV-amnesia and forget that they know exactly who Draco Malfoy really is and why his name is synonymous with BAD. I suppose the real problem I have is that I too cannot forget what he used to be and that's the reason I've begun to doubt him.

I didn't hear every part of his conversation with Scorpius aboard the Hogwart's Express, but I heard enough to make me feel _very_ uncomfortable.

Xxx

Christmas morning.

Ron, the children and I are opening presents in the living room. For a brief moment I feel like nothing's changed. We did the exact same thing last year, the year before that and for the last nearly fourteen years since I had Rose. Before that, it was just Ron and me opening presents under the tree. I remember I used to blush furiously if he managed to get the hints that I dropped like an anvil for the last month. I don't think I ever really got the knack of buying him the perfect present. It was always a hit or miss. In the earlies, I think that he was simply pleased that I bothered to pay him any attention and spend money, time and effort on a gift for him. After a few years though, we both didn't put as much effort into pretending that the gift we got was the only thing we ever wanted. Last year my gift came in a shiny green gift bag with the gift haphazardly wrapped in a black plastic bag, masking tape sticking to the insides of the bag making the gift difficult to come out. I nearly ripped the bag to shreds. It was the volumes 'T' and 'F' of the Healer's Encyclopaedia. The sale tag was still on it. And then he told me that he wanted back the gift bag because he was planning on putting Ginny's gift in that same bag. I couldn't have gotten angry because I got him a one year-long Bacon of the Month subscription. He had stopped eating meat six months then. I didn't even put it in a gift bag. Clearly, there was blame on both sides of this failed marriage.

This year, this year however, we've gone all out. Guilt is a powerful motivator. I managed to wrangle him a two-day training exercise with the Chudley canons. He got me tickets to see the sold-out-for-months underwater ballet on board the same ship that brought the students from Durmstrang to the Triwizards Tournament ages ago. And the children? It's indecent the amount of money we spend on them this Christmas. Guilt is a powerful motivator.

We have a perfectly normal family day that is no different from last year except that Ron and I were 'happily' married last year. He comes into the kitchen when I'm making lunch and the children are still busy gushing over their presents.

"Hey,"

"Hey, can you pass me that jar of pickles?" I'm too busy magically co-ordinating the lunch to notice that he's very quiet, but when I do, it makes me pause. "What? What's the matter? You don't want any pickles in the rice? I was thinking it would give it a nice salty flavour and…" I trail off when he puts down an envelope on the island. I don't have to open it to know what it is. All divorce papers come in the same orange envelope with the same bright purple seal.

"For the last few months you've been acting like the Hermione that I used to know, the one that I married. At first I thought it was because you were so glad that you were separated from me. You wouldn't believe how much that hurt."

"Ron, that's not true. I –"

"I know that now. I know now that it's because of Malfoy. He makes you happy, doesn't he?" I feel insanely uncomfortable. "But I know you better than he ever will," he continues. "I know that you've been…not yourself in the last week since the children came home. Something's wrong between the two of you, no? Did he ask you what's wrong? Does he realize that something's wrong? Does he know you like I do?"

I don't know what to say. Of course Ron's right. He does know me very well, probably better than most, but he does not know me the best. However, he is right about Draco. Draco hasn't noticed that I've cooled down in my dealings with him over the last week. He hasn't mentioned my mood shift at all, probably assuming that I just want some time alone with my children. Is it enough for Ron to use this as evidence that Draco is not enough for me? The truth is that I've been wondering the same thing myself.

"Ron…" I start up, not really sure what I'm going to say.

"If you're ready to sign them, then I'll be forced to accept. But I just want you to know that I'm willing. I'm willing to give you another chance. I want you to be happy, but I know for a fact that you won't be happy with Malfoy."

"And will you be happy with me?"

"I…" He can barely answer and it hurts. I must admit that it hurts like hell that he can't even lie and say that he can be happy with me . . . or is it just that he can't bring himself to admit the truth that he really can be happy with me, but that I might choose Draco anyway?

I don't know how much of his gesture is jealousy and how much is pride.

I'm in delayed shock and it's only now that I realize just how much I've been leaning on Draco for his support in the fall of my marriage. With the exception of my children, I have never missed anyone so much in my entire life. Yet, am I leaning on a staff that will only cut through my hand if I lean too much?

I'm really quiet for the rest of the day, even when we all go over to Molly's house (she did not knit me a jumper this year - blessing in disguise?). Harry is the one that notices I'm not my usual cheerful self. I get up to escape the heat of the living-room fire and the psychological torture that is Celestina Warbeck and go to the kitchen to get a slice of cake. I'm not expecting Harry to be right on my heels.

"How are you holding up?"

I nearly jump out of my skin; my mind is that distracted. I sit at the table with him, taking a bite of the chocolate cake before I answer him.

"I…I feel like I failed." He nods understandingly. "But, I don't feel so bad because it was as if the test was proven absolutely impossible to pass, so given what I was working with…sixteen years is not so bad."

"Your first E for Exceeds Expectations."

"Actually, it's my second – I got one in Defense Against the Dark Arts. You always bested me there."

"Yet, you're my boss, so…" We chuckle, but it dies down too quickly.

"Is he happy, Harry?"

"Ron is…I don't know. I think it would be easier if he were seeing someone, someone to distract him."

"He and Padma never…"

"No. But who knows what could happen… Are you happy?"

"I really, really love him. I don't know. I think so. Draco - " I cut off and look at him sheepishly and he sighs deeply.

"Listen, no matter what I feel towards Malfoy, you're still my best friend. And if you need to talk about anything…including Malfoy, I'll listen. I draw the line at bedroom performance."

I laugh out loud because the day Harry Potter becomes an Agony Uncle for my bedroom problems with Draco is a day that I will probably have bigger things to worry about because I am positive that that will be the day the world ends.

Suddenly, because I must know, I ask him,

"Why didn't you write up a report about what happened to Astoria Malfoy all those years ago?"

He doesn't look the least bit surprised by this question.

"Honestly, it was because I felt sorry for him." I never thought I'd hear him say something like that. "What they did to her… The media would never let them rest and she'd been through enough; they'd been through enough."

"Did you ever find who did it?"

"Yes, and they are no longer a problem." I look at him and his unsaid words hang between us. "I never told Ron, not Ginny, not Luna, not anyone what really happened that night." He says after a few moments as a subtle way to let me know that he won't be telling me either.

"Ron told me that you're still investigating her suicide."

"I'm not doing it officially. I'm not even doing it whole-heartedly. In my spare time I just look over the details of the file."

"And?"

"And I think that some things seem…odd."

"Like what?"

"I can't really explain it. When I arrived on the scene – again because he specifically requested me – he said that she'd cut her wrists with a razor. What witch uses a razor to slice her wrists? Every suicide I've ever encountered (accidental or purposeful) have used the Diffindo charm if it's a cutting. Not even Muggleborns use a razor and Astoria Malfoy was anything, but a Muggleborn. He told me that Astoria had lost her wand ages ago and she never replaced it because for the last few years she'd been very ill, too ill to take care of herself and thus not needing a wand. Scorpius was there and the look he gave his father when he said that was…"

"You think Draco lied?" He nods slowly and I remember Scorpius' words. _I saw you with the razor in your hand_.

"I think Scorpius saw something or he knows something. He kept shouting that Draco had killed Astoria. He was hysterical, but a backlash is of course expected when a father has to tell his son that the child's mother died – we couldn't trust his statements. And of course we interrogated Malfoy, but his alibi was locked solid: he was in a meeting with Theodore Nott at Nott's house all evening and by the time he got home, Astoria was already dead. It was a house-elf that found her."

Again, my mind runs on words said ages ago: '_I was tall and gangly and clumsy and slow, calling out to Astoria unintelligibly, splashing through the water to her. I skidded and fell to the side of the tub in an undignified heap. I was the one that found her_.' I of course remember Crabby's obsequious attitude towards Draco.

"Why are you asking me this? Is it because of what Ron said? Is…is something wrong with you and Malfoy? Did you find out something? Is that why you wanted to borrow my invisibility cloak the other day?"

"No." I answer immediately, too quickly. Harry stares at me. "I…I don't know if . . . I think that I might be sabotaging my relationship with him. Sometimes I have problems believing that he's changed."

Harry snorts. "Join the club."

"He's just so…so bad at being good!" I say in frustration. "He went to prison because he wanted to protect his family from Voldemort. I know him. I know him better than his mother, than Pansy, better than you. I know him better than he knows himself. He's a good person. I just wonder sometimes…if I'm wrong." I finish lamely.

"Well, knowing you, you won't rest easy until you get concrete proof that he's either good or bad. What are you going to do if you find out he's on the wrong side of the line?"

"If it is one thing I've learnt with Draco is that nothing is ever so black or white."

"What's that supposed to mean? If you find out he killed his wife, but for some noble cause, what will you do? Will you give him up?"

"Would you give me up?"

"That's different."

"How so?"

"You're my best friend."

"And he's someone that I love."

"You're saying that now."

"What? You don't think that I truly love him?"

"No, I know you do. But do you love him enough to throw away everything that you stand for?"

"Do you honestly think that he could do that to her? You saw with your own eyes how much he loved her."

"You of all people know the extremes that Malfoy would go to for love. Look, Malfoy and I may not be friends, but even I could tell you that there is a gap in him, a difference between how he was four years ago and how he is now. I honestly don't know what happened between that time – all I know is that Astoria was very sick, but I know that he's changed. I just don't know if it's for the better or worse. We know that Astoria was ill, but did it affect him too?"

"He's damaged, I know this much."

"Yes, but how damaged is he? Is he capable of the worst? You say you know him, that you love him, but can you be with a murderer?

I have no answer for him. Luckily, I don't have to. Ron walks in at that exact moment. It's awkward as hell, but we make quite a show of pretending everything's still normal. One day that'll be true.

Xxx

Boxing Day.

Draco stops by to drop off Scorpius at the Weasley/Potter annual Boxing Day lunch. This time it's being held at Molly's house. Draco must stand outside because Molly said she didn't want Scorpius dragging any filth into the house. Not that Draco had any intentions of stepping foot inside the house (he kept looking around, terrified someone he knows might see him there), but my cheeks still burn in shame. Luckily, Scorpius didn't hear her, but Draco did. He is unmoved.

"Hey. Do you think the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe knows how to spell hypocrite?"

"Okay, first of all – you know that Muggle nursery rhyme?"

"Remember I told that my cellmate in Azkaban was a Muggleborn. They put him there to spite me."

"Okay. Also, pot meet kettle." He laughs because he knows he of all people can't call anyone else a hypocrite, not when he just kissed the woman he spent upwards of twenty-five years hating.

"Scorpius is here not just because we all like him, which we do, but he's here for Al. How are you holding up in light of…recent revelations?"

"His…choices are not something that I support, but I just have to move on. I don't want to lose my son again, so I'll do what it takes, even if it means turning a blind eye to certain…revelations, as you put it."

His words stir something within me.

"I have something for you." He pulls from his coat pocket a small, black box. I feel instantly nauseous. "It's not what you think it is."

"Oh?" I open the box, my heart pounding. The noon sun is brilliant, but the place is still freezing cold. The snow on the ground is blinding. I open the box and I was right. It's a ring, but it's not an engagement ring. It's a platinum wedding band with a thin line of diamond baguettes around it. It's Draco's wedding band. I look up at him in shock.

"Are you sure that you're ready to let go of this?"

He gives me a sad smile. "I've left a piece of me with my past. I've left huge chunks of me behind, actually. You're not getting a complete wizard, Hermione. I just hope that what I have to offer you is enough."

His melancholy romance makes me feel somewhat comforted.

"Ron served me the divorce papers yesterday. I haven't signed them as yet."

I expect him to make a sarcastic remark about Ron's stupidity or some joke that I have Stockholm Syndrome and is unaware that I've just been giving an escape route. I expect him to do a tap dance, a spinning flip and end with jazz hands. I'm not expecting him to look at me sombrely and squeeze my arm in what looks to be compassion.

"If you need to talk, I'm here to listen."

"Oh no. You've been Imperioed."

That at least cracks a broad grin. "I was trying to be sensitive. Did I overreach there with the touch on the arm or was it the line delivery?"

"It was the line delivery."

"I knew it!" I can't help but laugh. Age has at least given him self-awareness of his limitations and a hearty ability to mock them. We joke at this, but are his emotions jaded? Speaking of faults…

"Draco…I'm sorry that I haven't seen you much over the holidays."

"No problem." He shrugs. I feel…odd. How can he not notice that my behaviour towards him has changed? He knows me. He _knows_ me. Is Ron right? "I know that you want to spend time with your children."

Merlin! I feel like I'm going insane with all these conflicting thoughts! I know this man. This is the man that I love. Yet...I don't know.

"I was wondering if I can come over on New Year's Eve. All the children will be going to Spain with Ron for the League finals."

"Sure. It sounds great. I'll cancel on Pansy's party. She'll have a fit. She'll probably call you a bitch in at least five different languages. Oh please come to the party. It'll be a really nice fight between you and Pansy. You might probably kill her." He laughs in either deadpan delivery or hopeful aspiration.

"No thanks. I have no intention of going to Azkaban."

"Me neither." He smiles broadly, but there's a hint of something cruel and keen in his eyes. I feel a shiver that I'm not entirely sure is from the cold. "Granger, it's bloody freezing out here and as much as I love you, I have no intention of getting frostbite, so I think I should go. I'll see you on New Year's Eve. We have things to talk about anyway."

"Yeah, we do." I mumble half-heartedly.

He gives me a brief kiss on the lips and walks off to disapparate a few feet from me. I turn around and Ron is standing in the doorway. How long had he been there? Did Draco know that he was there? Ron answers my unasked question with one of his own,

"He's a very good actor, don't you think?"

I have nothing to say. My heart is swirling black with indecision and doubts.

Xxx

New Year's Eve.

"You guys have everything, right?" I shout upstairs to the children as I pack sandwiches and snacks for them to take on their trip to Spain. "Your father will be here in a bit, so hurry up!"

"How long is this match supposed to be? You're packing like we might never return." Rose says from the doorway to the kitchen and I jump. I even shriek. She looks at me surprised.

"You're really jumpy these days, Mum. You alright?"

"Yeah. Where's your brother?"

"Right here!" He jumps up from behind the counter and I shriek again. We all fall into giggles.

"What are you going to do when we're gone? You're going over to Grandpa's?" Hugo asks.

"Um…no, I don't think so."

"You're going to see Mr. Malfoy, aren't you?"

The entire mood of the kitchen changes and the temperature feels like it dropped ten degrees. I try to deflect.

"Aren't you guys excited about your trip? I never went to Spain. And your Dad, he'll get to introduce you all to so –"

"He's only taking us because he feels bad about divorcing you." Rose says. She and Hugo are standing next to each other now, looking small and vulnerable.

"Is that what you think? That's not true. Your father loves you and wants to spend time with you all. He just didn't get the time to do much of it before because he was really busy."

"So, it's because of that that you two are getting a divorce, because Dad didn't have the time? Uncle Harry's an Auror and he and Aunt Ginny are still married."

"True," but that doesn't mean they're happy, I don't add. "But the problems I have with your father are not just because of…" I don't even know how to continue. How do I explain the dynamics and complexities of a marriage to two sullen teenagers who only want know who to blame and who to forgive and how can this be fixed?

"Is it because of Mr. Malfoy?" Hugo asks.

"No. No, it is not." I answer definitely. Draco was the solution, not the problem to my marriage. Or at least, that's what I thought… I don't even know anymore. "Mr. Malfoy has nothing to do with –"

"Is he going to be our stepfather?"

I want to dig a hole in the ground and hide there forever or at least until someone else can deal with this mess.

"You're happier with him than you are with Dad, aren't you? Answer honestly, Mum."

"Honestly, right now I don't know what's going to happen. Honey, right now I'm in the same boat as you. I'm not sure where anything is going. What I do know is that no matter what, you two come first."

They look at me, searching for sincerity. When they find it they move forward to hug me and I hug them back like they're pieces of driftwood in a flood. I look up and suddenly there is Ron standing at the doorway to the kitchen. My word, he's worse than Batman!

"You guys ready?"

"Dad! Come join the hug!"

Ron comes over and we stand close to each other with the children hugging us tightly around our torso. He turns his head to face me and I face him and he thinks it's okay. He moves very slowly before he gives me a brief kiss on the lips. I almost kiss him back briefly out of habit, out of shame, but I don't. He ends up just pressing his lips against mine for about two seconds. I don't feel anything and neither does he.

Yet, it would be so easier if we could pretend.

"Alright, I can't feel the lower half of my body. Everybody scatter like Luna's brains. Let's go!" The children laugh and call Ron a meanie. They step out into the backyard and I follow them with the bags of goodies. He turns to me and asks,

"You made up your mind?"

"Soon. I'll give you an answer soon."

Xxx

Personally, I think Malfoy Manor exists solely as an experiment in fear tolerance. It never fails to baffle me that Draco continues to live in this place. All sorts of unspeakable horrors happened here short of goat sacrifices to Satan (though I wouldn't doubt that that _didn't_ happen) and still Draco continues to live in this house. Despite the fact that the walls seem to be sucking out the light, the house (taken at bare face value) is actually quite stunning. He gives me a tour of the sprawling 110-room complex that unsurprisingly manages to take all day to get through. There are mile-long hallways, steep staircases, hidden rooms, magnificent and vivid paintings, rich tapestries and artefacts that of course cost more than my weight in gold.

The rooms we do not enter of course are the dungeons, the ground floor living-room, the main dining-room and a couple of rooms on the third and second floor respectively – the room that Voldemort claimed as his own and of course, the room that Draco shared with Astoria. Of course, there is one other room that he bypasses so quickly that I nearly don't notice. It's on the second floor and there is no doorknob or hinge or recess or anything to indicate a door; only a slight rectangular discolouration on the wall and an inch high space from the floor to the door, letting out a cool breeze from whatever's behind that door. I don't question it. I only mentally file it away for future reference.

If it weren't a breeding-ground for unspeakable terrors and if I had maybe never met Draco (in other words, if I had lived a completely different life) I might have been excited, glad even to live in a house like this. As it is, I must tamp down the heebie-jeebies I get from simply breathing in the air. Draco does not seem to notice my discomfort or more than likely, he's ignoring it. After all, it was I who wanted to come here.

"What's that place?" I ask him as he again pours me something alcoholic and strong from a green bottle – some sort of exotic liquor. Pansy gave it to him for Christmas. I like it. It tastes like wine, but with a jump kick. I feel light and I need it to take the edge off this place. He stops pouring briefly as he looks over to what I'm talking about. His expression darkens for a brief second.

We're sitting in the side veranda facing the labyrinth garden. It's a bit after six and the place is a bit dark, but the faeries have lit up the garden like sunlight on snow. It's chilly, despite the warming charm Draco has placed on the veranda. It's chilly and quiet. The house elf has been sent away for the day. Scorpius is spending the next two days with Pansy and has left early to help her with her big New Year's Eve party later, so it's the two of us rattling around like peas in a pod in this massive manor. I hug myself as I take a sip of my drink.

"Over there is the mausoleum," he answers quietly as we both look over at the impressive structure some four hundred metres away."It's not as depressing as it might look."

"Can you show it me?

"One day I'll show it to you, but not now. It's too dark."

"Are you a wizard or what? You have a wand that is quite capable of making light. It's too dark, he says."

"Another time. Tonight, I plan on getting thoroughly drunk and making up for all the lost time that I haven't seen you by making love to you in all the rooms that I've shown you today. Walking around a tomb can't be fitted into the schedule, which would be tight if I'm to make love to you 110 times tonight."

"For you to accomplish that you'd have to start counting in binary."

He laughs out loud and his mood is infectious. He gets up, lifts me up onto the table and pushes up my skirt, ripping my stockings as I wrap my legs around his waist. I feel drunk off of this wine and him. The coldness of the metal edging from the table is contrasted sharply with his warm touches up my thighs. I take in a sharp breath and feel a thrill run up my spine. If he wants to he can have that effect on me without even touching me. He just has to give me that look.

"Marry me,"

I pull back and look at him. He's serious.

"Think about it, but don't think too long."

He kisses me again, pushing me back down onto the table after he removes my sweater and I feel. . . I can barely explain how I feel. I know that I came here for a reason – to investigate this house and prove once and for all that he is not who Ron and Harry think he is.

But, there is something about him that when I'm with him I can only focus on him and him alone, barely enough room for anything or anyone else. His heartbeat, his voice fills up my ears like water rushing in. His face is all I can see; I don't want to take my eyes off of him. His touch is all I can feel. His tongue electrifies me, makes me taste him and only him, like I've never tasted anything before. The experience feels novel every time. With him, through him, everything is focused, yet hazy. Everything else is negative space, everything else fades away. I have never felt this way before with anyone. I'm in love with him. It thrills and terrifies me.

* * *

**A/N**: Review please! What will Hermione do? Ron is the safe and predictable choice, but then there's Draco – someone that has her feeling all sorts of things, maybe she's feeling too much. Are her doubts justified? Let me know what you think of this chapter!


	18. Chapter Eleven: Hermione Part Two

**Chapter Eleven: Hermione Part Two **

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Chekhov's Gun was mentioned in Chapter Eight when Hermione and Draco got together and was fired in the first part of this chapter. I hope you noticed it…

* * *

It's late when I wake up and my head is pounding. It takes me a while to notice where I am which is strange because ever since the days of being on the run from Voldemort it takes me one second to be fully awake. My senses feel dulled. I try to raise my head but it feels like my brain's been replaced with lead. I close my eyes tightly and try to focus. When I open them and see the white covers of the canopied bed and the redwood panelled walls, I recognize my surroundings. My memory slowly starts to come back to me – the exotic green wine, Draco kissing me, the veranda, the kitchen, the parlour, the library, the bedrooms, the wine again, more bedrooms. I turn my head and it feels like I'm a comic character where I'm leaving an imprint in the atmosphere to show my delayed movements.

"Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco! Draco!"

He doesn't budge. His back is to me. When he sleeps on his back, he snores. I can see his body moving rhythmically so I know he's still breathing, just out cold from too much wine and sex. Not a bad way to die if he were to die right now, though. Still, I force myself to get up and prop him with pillows in case he rolls onto his back and throws up in his sleep.

My legs tremble when I get up and for a second I must hold on to the nightstand. I go to the bathroom and clean up at the sink, washing away all the stickiness. I wash my face and I realize that I have my opportunity.

When I come out of the bathroom my movements are still dulled, like I'm swimming or in a dream. I'm dressed only in a shift and my fluffy, purple bedroom slippers, so I look around for my coat. "Accio coat." I mutter and the coat comes zooming to me. I make my way across the hallways and eventually I come across the room that Draco shared with Astoria.

"Alohomora," I whisper. Nothing happens. Do you know why nothing happens? It's because it wasn't locked in the first place.

I step in and the room is exactly like I expected it to be. The room that Draco has now is not to the style I know he would like. It's too stuffy, too traditional. Don't get me wrong. If it's anyone who's a supporter of tradition, it'd be Draco Malfoy. But he's not completely willing to live in a 17th century English bedroom, which is exactly what his current bedroom looks like. But this, this bedroom is beautifully balanced between traditional and contemporary. It's much more of a reflection of him – his inability to pick a bloody side.

The walls are painted white, the floors are dark hardwood. The silk draperies are Slytherin green. Of course. The furniture is traditional combined with clean-lined modern pieces. The room is littered with contemporary art. Do you know what else the room is littered with? Signs of Astoria.

There is her robe strewn on the bed. There are copies of four-year old editions of Witch Weekly and other magazines and other books that I know Draco would never read. On the right nightstand there's her hand lotion and reading glasses. This is the only room in the entire house that has any pictures of her. There are some on the wall above the fireplace. She's not smiling in any of them, but I get the impression that she was never much of a smiler. She is stunningly beautiful. I expected no less of the wife of Draco Malfoy.

I turn away from the pictures and my heart rate starts to quicken when I look towards the bathroom. Everything in this room has been preserved as is. Does that mean that the bathroom is the same? What will I find in there? Blood stains on the floor? A tub full of dingy water blackened by stale blood? I walk over to the bathroom and rest my hand on the doorknob. The chrome is cool to the touch. I turn it in one and the door swings open.

The breath I'd been holding can finally be released. The bathroom is as clean as any other in this house. It's extremely clean for a place that supposed to be locked up for the last year and a half. I can see my reflection in the tiles. Is it me or does it still smell of disinfectant?

Did Draco (or his house elf really) clean this recently? I look back into the bedroom. Everything is the same, but not a single speck of dust is on anything. There is not a single smudge or spot on the hard surfaces. Draco hates spots and marks for obvious psychological reasons. This room was cleaned recently, wasn't it? The idea comes to me suddenly and I feel stupid for having not realized it before.

Draco wanted me to come here. He wanted to me come here and find nothing. He knows that I'm looking into him.

If Astoria was as ill as Draco claimed she was, this room shouldn't have so many sharp objects that a person in her fragile mental state should be able to easily reach. Yet, there are the reading glasses, and the pictures on the wall in glass frames, and the drapes that could be easily used to make a noose…

This room is staged.

I look around the room and I start to feel dizzy again, but I soon spot what I'm looking for – the walk-in closet. I'm looking for the huge and black wardrobe that he once told me held a boggart, a boggart that scared his sister-in-law so much that it turned her hair white. The room's half empty; only his clothes have been removed. I march over to the wardrobe and fling it open. It's still packed with Astoria's cloaks, like it's never been moved. But it lacks a boggart.

How very considerate of him. He knew that I'd look there, but if Draco Malfoy thinks I can't handle a boggart, he's dead wrong. I leave the room in a rage, a rage that is blanketing my fear. I have to hold on to the balcony for support and the area downstairs swims before me. The place is full of shadows and it takes me a while to adjust. I'm still outside Astoria's room which is strange because it felt like I made at least twenty steps down this hall. The hallway overlooks the east sitting room, lit dimly by a crystal chandelier that is almost level with me. The lights dance in front of my eyes. I grip the balcony harder and close my eyes again. Images of Draco's lips on every inch of my body flood my mind. My eyes snap open. I must focus. What the hell did he put in my drink?

I look behind me and the only proof that I really did just come out from Astoria's bedroom is the still open door. I close it back gently and I walk over (stagger more really) to the room with the locked door.

Unlike Scorpius, I know how to get into places where I'm not supposed to be. I've been doing it for years. I know that behind this door are the Sweet Temptation snakes that nearly killed my daughter. I stare at it, but my brain seems to be working too slowly. The door is almost indistinguishable from the dark red wallpaper and panelled wood that cover the rest of the hallway, but I just know that there is some way to enter into that room.

I stare at the door. I stare at it some more.

Finally, it comes to me. Coming from a history of dark wizards it does not surprise me that Draco would be influenced by their methods and preferences in magic. I take out my wand and the action that I'm about to perform takes all of my nerves to complete. I take a deep breath and convince myself that I can heal myself in seconds. Voldemort always demanded blood and Draco has learnt well.

"Diffindo." I mutter and a gash slashes across my left hand. I stifle the cry of agony and push my hand onto the door which instantly dissolves like smoke. Quickly I heal the cut on my hand.

I step into the room and feel darkness descending on me like a heavy, black cape. When I look back I see that the door has been sealed again, but this time there's a doorknob. The room is freezing because the window is still missing its pane from since the children broke it the day after Boxing Day last year. Of course the snakes have been removed. My stomach feels like it fell through a pit in my body. Rose told me that the room had only old furniture and the snake boxes. Nothing is in this room. Nothing that can be traced back to Draco's involvement in Astoria's death is in this house. I remember that Al confessed to me (after I threatened him to tell me everything) that Nott made notes that he stored in a book in a cabinet in this room, but the furniture has been removed. Even now, I realize that certain books in this house are absent – there are no books on memory charms, not even in the library. When I came here in June this year (well last year, it's after midnight and a new year has started) Draco's bedside books were on liberal eugenics, paradigm shifts, time travelling and memory modification. Everything but the book on memory modification is still there on his night stand, plus the completed works of William Shakespeare that I gave him.

The reality of the situation that I've gotten myself into digs deep into me, unsettling my blood and bones. Draco has planned for me.

"Hermione!"

When I hear my name I jump. I thought he was asleep! He was a possible coma-victim; his slumber was that strong!

"Hermione!"

I can hear his voice nearing. Does he know that this would be where I'd look? Did I close back the door to Astoria's room? I go to the doorway and listen. I can't hear him. Is he looking for me in Astoria's room? I pull back and try to turn on my heels for a few seconds before I remember that I can't apparate while inside of Malfoy Manor. Draco has it set up that not even he is able to apparate inside of the house. The only creature capable of doing that is the house elf, which has been conveniently sent away. I listen at the door again and I hear silence. Maybe he went downstairs to look for me. I try the doorknob, but suddenly it's not working. I shake it and shake it and still the door is locked. Oh Merlin, tell me that I don't have to cut myself again.

"Granger where the hell are you!"

His tone strikes a fear in me that make me stand stock still.

"Granger!"

I can hear his footsteps. There is nowhere to hide in this room unless I can melt into the shadows. My mind runs on the children. I should have just gone to Spain with Ron and the children.

I look around the room desperately. I don't want to have to face him. Not yet. I can't face him. He'll tell me that I'm paranoid, that I don't trust him. And it's true. I don't trust him, not right now. But I can't face him when I have no concrete proof of what he did – only very, very suspicious circumstances. I look out the window and I suddenly know where I'll find my proof, but how am I to get out of this room?

Well duh, Hermione. If Rose, Al and Scorpius could do it, why not you? I stick my head out the window and sure enough there are still vines attached to the house. It's a tight fit (I may be petite, but I'm still bigger than the children), but I believe I can do it. I shove my wand in my coat pocket and stick my legs over the ledge. I reach for the vines which are on my right.

The shaft of light just misses me as I lunge for the vines. I try to climb down as quickly as possible while I mentally curse myself for forgetting that these vine move. They actively try to shake me off.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing?" I look up and he's staring down at me, frustration and confusion in his eyes.

I suppose it's the shock that makes me fall. I land with a hard thud and feel like my brain rocked inside my head. I hear something snap, but I feel no intense pain associated with a broken bone, only a dull ache throughout my entire body.

"Hermione!"

I'm having trouble breathing. I push my hand into my pocket and feel for my wand and the sudden and acute depression that befalls me in that one moment is all encompassing. My wand is broken! I feel like I can't move, can't breathe, can't go forward in any way. I look up and he's no longer at the window.

Damn it! A surge of adrenaline makes me jump up like the ground kicked me.

I scramble up and race through the gardens, ducking and running low; lips compressed in determination. It's bitingly cold, but I must keep going. I must get proof before I face him.

"Hermione!"

I duck through the varying winding paths, trying to find my way through this morass of plants and faeries.

"Damn it to hell, Granger! You have me running out here in the fucking snow! Where the hell are you?"

Left, right, right, right, left, right, left, left again and finally right. After a series of dead ends and winding pathways, I reach the end of that godforsaken maze. I can see the mausoleum just one hundred metres ahead of me.

"Hermione!"

I hear him shout my name and like an Olympic runner I sprint out for the mausoleum like I heard a shot. In my mind I'm going at least twenty miles an hour, but more than likely I'm probably moving as slow as molasses going uphill. There is snow and I'm wearing my fluffy slippers. I'm quite fit, but the adrenaline is the only thing that's keeping me going now.

When I reach the mausoleum I am awed by its beauty. It's made of black marble and it stands about twenty feet high. I enter the arched doorway and must go down a few steps before I step into a room with a vaulted ceiling. There are beautiful statutes of angels that shield their faces with their stone wings. When I pass them they whisper poems of famous pureblood wizards – all advocating purity even in death. Idiots. They all hold wands in their hands that emanate a yellow light that cast terrifying shadows on the wall.

I enter another room that breaks into four other chambers and has a stairway leading down to another level and one leading upwards to another. A towering golden statue of a beautiful witch stands over this passageway with a wand in her hand. I have no idea where to go. What would Harry do? He probably wouldn't fall for a former Death Eater in the first place, I cynically think. I notice that there is a faint light coming from the stairwell that leads below. I decide to go down onto the other level.

Surely, there are lamps down here that cast this main room in a faint, bluish tint. There are lit incense sticks poking out from two vases in an alcove. The entire room is decorated in the poetic words of a famous French wizard – a Malfoy. I find two sarcophagi with more beautiful poetry etched onto their stone surfaces in calligraphy:

_The world has not been so kind and thus I leave with no regret. When the sweet deceit of the shadows come calling, Death shall be my saviour. _

I read this and only one person comes to mind: Astoria.

But I can't. I can't disturb this person's grave. I'm not superstitious, but I am respectful. I should let her rest. I'll find another way to locate her wand, but I won't disturb her peace.

I go out of the room, unsure about what to do next. I go up the stairs feeling suddenly tired. The angels of the front room whisper nothing any more, the place seems slightly darker. Maybe they feel just as tired and hopeless as I do now. I go back out into the night and face the bristling cold. I had no idea of how cold I was until I step outside here. I look up at the house. It looks like a wet albatross caught up in an oil spill – big, black and menacing.

It is only then that I notice something I hadn't noticed just now. I run back inside the mausoleum and stop in the front room. There are six angel statues, but now only five of them are holding wands. I'm terrified to turn around, but when Draco speaks I turn around so quickly that I nearly lose my footing.

"Yes, I hid her wand in plain sight."

He's standing at the only exit holding what looks to be a concrete wand. He smashes it hard against the wall and the material shatters to reveal a ten inch long wand not counting the mother-of-pearl handle. I have no doubt that that is Astoria's wand.

"After everything, I couldn't throw it away." He speaks, but I am mentally calculating an escape from this situation. "What are you doing in here, Hermione?"

"You knew I was investigating you, didn't you?" I am surprised that my voice still works. "When did you realize?"

"I realized after I saw you on the train. I caught only a glimpse of you. Were you wearing Potter's invisibility cloak?" I nod. "That thing has been the bane of my existence since school days. And besides, your attitude has shifted towards me. You really think I wouldn't notice? I know you, Hermione. I know you very well. There is no way that you would come here willingly. You had to have been up to something."

"You killed your wife." I blurt out and instantly I feel like I did a bad thing. His eyes harden like steel.

He looks at me for a long time, his eyes hooked onto mine, the steeliness of his softening as his mind no doubt replays his wife's death. His right leg is shaking like it has a mind of its own. I'm in such a frenzy of emotions – fear, anger, frustration. He looks like a little child now, vulnerable and in desperate need of comfort, but of all the emotions it is my anger that is winning through. He used me! Am I that predictable? Or does he know me that well? The thought that I let him get to know me that well swells my anger and I feel my blood pushing under the surface of my skin, prickling the hairs on my arms and neck.

"Well, don't you have anything to say?" I shout at him. My hands are trembling. I want to hit something so badly. I want to hit him in his face, feel my hand connect with the bones collapsing under his soft flesh. He used me! Doesn't he know how much I love him?

He mumbles something.

"Speak up! Let me hear you!"

"I didn't want to." He croaks out. He finally looks away from me; his eyes red and puffy.

"What?" My voice fails me then and it comes out as a weak whisper. I know what he has done, yet the confession still surprises me. I hadn't realized up until this moment how much I was hoping that he would tell me that it wasn't true. When he finally speaks everything comes out in a relentless anguish, in a jumble.

"She lost her memory in the attack on her. Everything was muddled. Her mind was a wilderness. She was mentally stumbling around brambles. She was constantly reliving the attack. She became Sisyphus; this house became her own personal Tartarus. She didn't know her own son and she was terrified of me. Every time she saw this mark on my arm she would go beserk. These marks," He lifts up the sleeve of his jersey, "these scars are here because _she,_ and not me, tried to remove the mark. She would see it and scream and scream and scream. My wife feared and hated me just like everyone else does.

"I tried to help her. I took her to countless Healers all around the world. I even tried Muggle healers. No one could help her. There was simply no remedy for memory loss of that scale. One healer, Healer Prakash, he told me that Astoria's memories were simply lost and the ones she had remaining were chopped up, in tatters. With most memory modification charms, the memories are still there – only deeply buried or disguised as something else and that's why memories are able to be restored. Ligilimens is one way to uncover those memories and create false ones, but in Astoria's case it's like the memories never existed in the first place and what she remained with are just pieces of this and pieces of that.

"I experimented with all sorts of potions to help replace what she lost, but eventually I came upon the sweet temptation snake. Lovegood mentioned the snake and its properties in a publication once. Yes, I know. I was desperate enough to start reading up on her works. I was looking for an answer anywhere. People who've been bitten by that snake have strong, dream-like hallucinations. It's so real that sometimes even after you've been given the antidote your brain has already inculcated the hallucinations with the real memories. You know how it is. Rose only got sprayed with it and she had mild hallucinations.

"Anyway, I started by creating false memories with Ligilimens, duplicating and mixing in a bit of these memories with my own memories, manipulating the properties of the venom and then I mixed it all up…and voila. You know how they say that it's so crazy, it just might work? Well, it did work. The potion worked for the most part and some semblance of life was regained. I had never been as close to her as I was during that brief period in time when my mind was literally linked to hers.

"When her mind started to slip again, I began to increase the dosage of the potion. It was the equivalent of building on an unstable foundation. Eventually her mind crumbled. In two months time she went completely insane. And I caused that. The only good thing is that Scorpius left for school before he saw her descent into madness. He last knew her with hope that she was getting better. He never knew…he never knew what she had become, how much pain she was in. When he returned from school over the summer I had to lock her away. I had to modify his memory to make him believe that she had taken a trip to Austria to spend some time with her mother. I couldn't let him see her like that. She was violent. She was terrified of me by then, of what she thought I represented – the face of evil. She even once tried to scratch out her eyes. She was in so, so, so much pain; pure mental agony. It nearly killed me to see her like that.

"I loved my wife, but by the time she became like that I had to realize that the woman I loved no longer existed and what remained was only a shell filled with a legion of her worst fears. She left me way back when she first got attacked. She was not the person I fell in love with and married. As far as I'm concerned, I've been a widower for the last four years."

"I understand," I start off.

"Do you really? At least you got left by someone who didn't love you anymore."

"Uh huh," Draco Malfoy; always a beacon of sensitivity.

"I still tried. I was so desperate I even started to look to religion as the answer. I even carried her to an exorcist. Nothing worked. I spent days, weeks, monts trying to find a solution. I think I came very close to finding a cure, but . . . I went to her that evening, even though by now she had no idea who I was. She only knew that she didn't like me, had to keep away from me. I had to let the house elves keep her under constant surveillance. Up to this day I don't know how she got away, how she managed to sweet talk the house elf into letting her go, into letting her have access to her wand. I don't even know how the house elf found her wand. I had hidden it. She was worse than a child, worse than a tiger on the loose – she was dangerous if left alone. Still…

"I hope that you'll never have to find out how it feels to come upon the person you care about the most lying in a pool of blood. Her wand was floating in the tub. The water was a bright red. I rushed to her, took up her wand and healed the slashes on her wrists. But do you know what she asked me to do? She begged me to kill her. She _begged_ me. She was in so much pain. Every day she saw me as a monster, a demon locked with her in a prison. She begged me. She begged me. And you may hate me, you may judge me, but until you see the person you care about the most suffering like that, in absolute agony with no reprieve, then you can tell me what I did was wrong!"

"Draco…"

"I tried to make it as painless as possible. I tried to do the Avada Kedavra on her, but I didn't have the conviction. I couldn't follow through on the spell. I only ended up causing her more pain than before. I…I…I decided to cut her wrists again using the Diffindo charm."

The horror of imagining that scene makes me feel sick. How could he mentally survive doing something like that? Of all the things a person can do for love, because your suffering is their suffering…

"Oh Draco…"

His breathing is hitched and it takes a while for him to get himself under control. He isn't crying, but there is an undignified agony rippling off of him. He looks absolutely wrecked.

"I just sat there and waited until her body became limp and heavy in my arms. People say so many things about me: that I'm heartless and a coward and a demon, but it's not until that night that everything they said about me became truth."

"You're not; you're not a coward at all." I try to comfort him, but he doesn't hear me.

"I'm not stupid. It didn't take me long to realize that I'd accidentally used her wand to do all those spells. I knew that when the authorities came they would want her wand. They would investigate all the spells that her wand last committed. They would see that she cut herself, that she healed herself, that she tried to use the Avada Kedavra charm on herself (impossible we all know), then cut herself again with the Diffindo charm. It would make no sense. And no matter what I say, Potter's no idiot. It wouldn't take him long to realize what happened. I had to get rid of her wand, but I had to find something to frame as the instrument of death. I…I…I picked up my razor and did the second worst thing I have ever done in my life. I . . . p-p-passed the razor inside of her wounds so they would notice the blood. That's the part that Scorpius saw – me standing over his dead mother with a bloodied razor in my hand. How can I describe to you the worst moment of shame and disappointment and fear in my life?

"You have to understand. I couldn't go back to Azkaban. Even in that moment of terror and bereavement I knew I had to act fast. I hid the wand and I got Nott and his wife to corroborate a story that I spent the entire day at their house discussing business. I couldn't let the authorities know that I had found her because I know the first thing they'd ask me is, why didn't I heal her wounds? I got Crabby to say that he found her. I couldn't go back to Azkaban. You must understand. That place…I couldn't go back. I have a son. I couldn't leave him. I couldn't cause him more shame. I had to learn from Father's mistakes. I couldn't leave my family alone while I languished and wasted away in prison. I wasn't going back to Azkaban."

"Is that why you are with me now? Did you think that I'd save you? Is that why you want to marry me? Why would you do that to me? Do you have any idea how I feel about you?" My own tears roll down and fall into my mouth. Even after all this I can't bear to hear him say that he never loved me.

"I never expected to fall in love with you. I'll admit that I did have intentions for you, that you could be useful in helping me get my father away from the death penalty, if not get him away from prison entirely. But I never expected to fall for you. What I feel for you is real. Not even with my mind linked to Astoria's did I feel as close to her as I feel to you now. What I had with her in those last few months was based on something I made up. The truth is the woman I loved had died long ago and though she was still alive, I was mourning her from all then.

"I never expected to love anyone again. What I have with you is…is…organic, it's real and…and…you have to know how I feel about you. You must know this. I love you. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you right now and you know this. If Astoria were to somehow be alive I would…I would still choose you because I honestly believe that I'm fated to be her downfall, but you, you're fated to be my saviour. I honestly love you. But…but I can't go back to prison, Hermione. I just can't go back there. You know they will execute me. You haven't even passed the bill. You know this. I have been paying and paying for the mistakes I made when I was sixteen. I lost my name, my freedom, my father, my wife, my son. I damn nearly lost my sanity, but I can't pay the price that they'd want. I can't. I just got back my son. I'd lose him again. I'd lose my life. I can't pay the price. What…what are you going to do?"

He's white with fear, his damned right leg still jiggling nervously.

"I don't know, Draco. I…I just don't know."

We stand there staring at each other. I'm looking at him look at me with his eyes dark and wide with despair, like an abyss.

"I don't want to lose you too, Hermione. I…I can't handle another loss. What are you going to do?"

I still have no answer. I know it's irrational, but I still love him and it burns through me like a fire, like a passion. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

"I…I need to…I need to get away from here." It's all I can say. He looks at me and I can see him take a deep breath and focus on compartmentalizing his emotions in order for him to even take one step further, in order to survive. He wipes his face with the back of his sleeved arm. The wand is still in his hand. Absently, I wonder if he'll bury the evidence of it now. Suddenly a fear grips me. What's stopping him from burying the evidence that I now know?

"Of course," He mutters and walks toward me, but I step back, terrified. He stops sudden like he hit a wall. The look in his eyes nearly kills me. After all that he just said, I still betray him and look at him with fear, the way his wife looked at him in her last days. The disappointment that shows in his face is enough to shame me from my core.

He stops absolutely still, waiting for me to make my move. I am ashamed, but still I can't let go of this irrational fear that he can hurt me. Is it really irrational? All the evidence is there that this situation is not to my favour.

"May I pass?" I ask him tentatively. I see him hesitate and my body feels like it's being shaken with fear.

"Where are you going?"

"I want, I want to go home."

"Sure." He says after a moment or two. We do not move. Eventually, he gestures for me to head out first, but my feet feel like concrete. I summon up my Gryffindor bravery and walk towards him. As I near him though, I slam my entire body against him and he loses his balance and falls hard onto the ground.

I do not stop. I just keep running. I know that there is no way for me to magically get out of this estate without his help, but I must try. I run towards the gates knowing that they will not budge and that is when the idea hits me. I run down to the gates, but instead of trying to get past them I turn into the hedges.

The hedges are thick and I struggle to get past them. They are filled with thorns and I must cover my eyes, moving blindly but forever onward. I feel the branches moving, trying to pull me back, grabbing at my clothing and skin, tearing them. With every movement that I make, the branches shift and the thorns slash at me. My blood feels hot in this freezing weather. I stumble and stumble and silently suffer. I must get away from here. I must. I am in so much pain, but I must move forward. I must move through this terror. I feel a sharp pain on my leg, different from the stinging sensation of the thorns, almost like something bit me.

When I emerge I don't stop to feel relief. I don't look back, as if terrified I'd turn to a pillar of salt. I just keep running. Blood is running down into my eyes from the slashes across my forehead. I wipe them away but I know that the only purpose I serve is to smear my face with even more blood. I keep running. I'm crying now, but I keep running down the lane away from the house.

The area is silent. It's New Year's day, but all the celebrations have died down by now and all that remains in the sky are dark clouds, moving stealthily across the black sky. It's quiet, deathly so.

When I reach the end of the lane, I turn right and keep running some more. My legs are tired. I can feel blood running down them. My coat is torn and my shift is barely hanging on. I hug the coat closer to my body and that is when I feel the cell phone in my pocket. Will it work?

"Hello? Hermione?"

I have never been so happy to hear Harry's voice. It's tinny and breaking up because of all the magic that is in this community, but I can hear him.

"Harry! Harry! I-I-I didn't know what else to do. I had to run. It was the sensible thing to do. I had to leave."

"Hermione, calm down. Where are you?"

"I'm in Wiltshire. I'm trying to get to the main road."

"Wiltshire? I'm on my way."

I know it only takes seconds for him to find me, but I feel like it's a millennium wait. I don't want to stand still. I keep running to the main road, but I am so tired and I've lost so much blood. The road is spinning towards me and I fall to my knees. I hear a loud crack behind and the terror returns twofold. I'm terrified to look back.

"Hermione!"

It's Harry. He rushes to me and the look of horror on his face jolts me back to what I did.

I ran away from Draco. I admitted that I didn't trust him. I did the one thing he hoped didn't happen, dreaded happening and probably feels stupid for trusting me to not let it happen. I threw away our trust. I discarded him because of my fear, because of my rationale. I threw away the person that I love. I have made the biggest mistake of my life.

Still, my brain questions it. Did I make the biggest mistake or the best decision ever? Sensibly, I know I made the right decision to get out of there – Draco is a murderer!

"Oh Harry..."

"Hermione, who did this to you? Did Malfoy do this to you?" I can see his eyes harden, his expression grim. I need to stop him. He'll kill Draco. I know he will.

"No, no." I can barely whisper. My mouth feels like cotton, though I know it's actually wet with blood. A thorn tore at my mouth, across my cheek. It hurts to speak. In my mind I'm shouting, but in reality the words probably sound like they're being said underwater. I can barely see him. His outline is blurry like someone drew him in charcoal.

"Hermione! Hermione! I'm going to take you to a Healer."

I feel him lift me in his arms and I feel that tight sensation of apparating. My chest is tight with regret. Oh, what did I do?!

My brain feels heavy and tired. I know I'm mumbling nonsense when we land in St. Mungo's. Well, it's nonsense to Harry's ears. I know what I mean when I keep repeating,

"He did it…I tried to...He tried to...he killed…I was..." The words are so hard to come out.

"Shh. The Healers will fix you soon. Don't worry about Malfoy. I'll deal with him. I won't let him get away with this."

* * *

**A/N**: So, that's what happened! What do you guys think? Feeling sympathy for Draco or should he go straight to jail, do not pass go? And by the way, did you guys notice that Chekhov's Gun was fired in Part One of this chapter? It was mentioned earlier in Chapter Eight. Let me know if you've figured it out.


	19. Chapter Twelve: Malfoy

**Chapter Twelve: Malfoy**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: To all my reviewers of the last chapter, all seven of you: thank you! Final chapter! Long chapter!

* * *

Keep calm and carry on. Keep calm and carry on. Keep calm and carry on.

I stumblingly get up as I repeat the phrase like a mantra. I have to lean onto the wall for support and something trickles hot into my left eye. I wipe it away and when I pull back my hand I notice blood. Well, would you look at that? Granger's a wee thing, but apparently there's a six foot tall, two hundred pound man's body trapped inside hers.

I swing around and to me the entire mausoleum tilts about forty-five degrees. I feel like I might fall out of the doorway and keep falling and falling, never stopping as I plummet into some bottomless hole. I grab for the wall and breathe hard, spending a good minute just breathing until my world rights itself again.

My eyes are skittering desperately from object to object. Again I must breathe. Keep calm and carry on. What's the next step? One foot in front of the other, just like that. I start to feel calmer, no longer like my chest is about to burst open so my terrified heart can make a break for it. Think clearly, take deep breaths. That's it. Think clearly. Think clearly. I mumble Homenum Revelio and soon I know that Hermione is no longer on my estate; I'm the only human presence. How on earth did she get out? She can't apparate. She can't fly. There's no Portkey. It's not like she could climb the gates. How did she get out? I know that I always joke that she's thin enough to slip into a crack in the floor, but did she slip through the gates?

I waste a good a two minutes mulling this over when something more important occurs to me. She got out! Fucking Merlin! She's going to arrest me! She left because she's coming back with Potter and I'll die in a hailstorm of hexes from him. I have to get away from here, now! I walk briskly to the house and I reach as far as the side entrance overlooking the garden when that niggling thought that I'm forgetting something stops nudging me as a gentle reminder and starts kicking me instead.

My son!

I have a son! I might lose him if Hermione decides to arrest me. My son! I have to get out of here…with my son! I can't afford to lose him. I have to get Scorpius and get away from here.

I look down at Astoria's wand in my hand. Should I even bother to get rid of it? I've been holding onto it for years, keeping it as far away, but as near as I could. I need to learn to let some things go. Should I just let go now? Why am I still clutching to the things that would make me normal, make me like every other decent person out there? Why am I trying so hard to hold onto my family, to a relationship, to my sanity when the rest of the world would still condemn me despite knowing that if it were another wizard to do this, their reaction would not be the same? I break the wand in half.

Nothing happens. No sparks. No light. No sound. I thought the final symbolic end of my marriage might have been grander, more significant. It's nothing. I might as well have stepped on a broken twig in the garden for all the fan-fair this action produced. Yet I feel like I just cut the last thread of the fragile and shoddy rope bridge that was linking me to my past.

Now what? I grip the broken pieces in my left hand, clutching them so hard that I feel a prick from one of the splintered edges. I don't bother to remove it. I deserve every pain I get.

I send a Patronus to Pansy with my own wand, but instead of the usual form it takes, my weak conviction and mood has made it into a spool of wispy, white, phosphorous smoke. It looks like my wand farted. Hopefully she'll still get the message. I start off toward the gates.

Snow fell earlier and the flakes cover the ground like powdered sugar. The stars and the moon seem blown up to idyllic proportions, lighting up the pathway to the gates like the grounds are a stage. It's bitingly cold and I feel the shivers all the way down to my bones, piercing me like needles. All I'm wearing are my bedroom slippers, my navy blue pyjama bottoms and a long-sleeved Black Watch flannel jersey. Hermione got me this jersey. She said she was tired of me looking like I worked for the Italian mafia and was trying to slowly introduce colour to my life. I have no idea what a mafia is. I've never in my life worn anything with a tartan pattern. I was, I am, willing to do anything for her. I thought she was the same. Now, I'm not so sure…

The gates dissipate for me automatically and I walk down the lonely road. My feet feel numbed and I walk on doggedly, kicking up a froth of snow in front of me. I hug myself and trudge on as the ground breathes back at me, cold and wet.

As I describe these things one would think that I'm interested in the weather and the temperature, when really my thoughts are on two things – Scorpius and Hermione. There was a time when Scorpius thought me a God, that I knew the answer to everything, that I could fix everything. It's a very nice feeling and I of course did nothing to break his illusion.

Then one day I was officially a cowardly and selfish idiot. I have no idea how it happened, but it took place so quickly that I didn't have time to prepare against his propoganda. It happened sometime around when he turned eleven or twelve, when he fucking met Harry Potter's son. After that, there was nothing that I could do right or ever possibly do right. Father was right. I should have sent my son to Durmstrang. Psh. Scorpius would have been in his glee.

And it's the same feeling that I have now with Hermione – that I messed everything up and I did not see it coming, though I knew it was coming. I don't know what the hell I was really expecting. I fell in love with the most self-righteous person alive. As soon as she catches her breath after running away from me (I don't know what the hell she thought I was going to do to her, by the way) she'd march over to the manor and arrest me.

I'll lose her, I'll lose my freedom and I'll lose my son. And I absolutely can't have that. I've already lost her. I can't let her take my freedom and my son too.

Pansy's house is about three miles from mine and though after I crossed my gate I could easily apparate to her house, I choose to walk. It's during these kinds of times, that is, doing something as simple as putting one foot in front of the other that the mind turns in on itself; not really registering the surroundings.

I stop suddenly when the gravity of what I'd just confessed to Hermione rises up and I feel shaken again. I have never confessed what I did to anyone except Mother and it's not just that I admitted my losses and fears that were so reprehensible that I eschewed admitting it even to myself; but it's the fact that I trusted her enough to open myself to her in the first place. It's terrifying. It's terrifying to have all that trust in one person. And now, now I feel like a communion was broken. How could she leave me? The vertigo of this moment will never leave me. I feel like I'm hanging off the edge of a precipice and someone has come to save me. They reach as far as grabbing my hand and then, then they let me go.

Keep calm and carry on, Draco. Keep calm.

That's enough introspection. Plus, I'm not accustomed to walking such long distances, especially in the snow. With one turn I apparate to Pansy's front step.

* * *

The party is still in full swing by the time I get there. I can barely hear myself think because the band's instruments are amplified, surrounding you in a crushing bear hug of music. _Love is blindness. I don't want to see._ The lyrics echo and reverberate. The walls of her living room seem to throw back the sound at you like a punch. You can't escape it.

I barely have room to change my mind let alone trudge through all these wizards. Acrobats leap from magically-suspended platforms as they perform all sorts of contortions and physical artwork. Suddenly, bright green confetti burst forth from nowhere like fireworks to rain down on Pansy's guests like emerald splinters. It couldn't just be confetti though because when this happens everyone opens their mouths wide like they're trying to taste a snowflake, their eyes rolling back in pleasure, a sly smile on their faces. All this levitation, plus there are hordes of house elves running in between the guests with platters raised high, precariously balancing glasses brimming with champagne and hors d'œuvres. I don't remember her parties ever being this wild. It is…excess.

I could see Pansy and Blaise standing on the balcony of the second floor overlooking the entire proceedings that's going on in her living room. I need to get to my son, but all these people are pressing in on me, pulling me back, preventing me. I shove them away. I hear their cries of shock.

Hey! It's Malfoy! What is he wearing? What happened to his face? My word, he's finally gone mad!

I can hear them as I make my path through them, never taking my eyes off of Blaise and Pansy. They're smiling at each other and looking every bit the part of opulence and ostentatious arrogance: Blaise, with his cigar in one hand and a drink in the other; Pansy, stunning in a strapless, bedazzled gold gown and looking very fey. I have a sudden urge to strangle the two of them. I make it to the staircase and I nearly push someone over the edge as I physically remove them from my way. I never keep my eyes from Pansy and Blaise. They finally notice the commotion among the din and their smiles drop from their faces almost comically once they spot me.

"Draco! What's the matter? What happened to you? Why do you look like that?" She cries, horrified. Look like how? I have no idea what she's on about.

She sees the confusion in my face and immediately takes out her wand from the pockets of her gown and conjures a hand-mirror. I nearly frighten myself with the image. All I can see is a shocked looking man with his hair sticking up on ends, his eyes crazed and wild like a caged animal, dried blood at the side of his preternaturally pale face, a couple of love marks on his neck. People are right. I look like a bloody madman. I suppose the pyjamas and the fluffy slippers do nothing to help the image.

"Where's Scorpius?"

"He's in the back playing midnight Quidditch with the other children. He's away from this, as usual. Are you worried about him? I'd never let the children near this side of the party, you know. Daphne's looking over them. What's going on? Draco––"

I push past her, turn left down the hall, heading for the back of the house that is in inaccessible to the rest of the drunken partygoers.

"Draco, for the love of Merlin, wait up!"

I feel myself being spun around and it's Blaise. He pins me against the wall, his cigar and drink discarded. Pansy stands to the side of him looking shocked and concerned.

"What's the matter with you? Did you and Granger have a fight, a physical fight? Did you hit her? Did she hit you back? Why are you bleeding?"

Pshh. Like I could knock around Hermione Granger and live to tell the tale.

"Zabini, let me go. I need to get Scorpius."

"Are you insane? You want to alarm him? You look like you just–– Oh Merlin no. Did you…did you…do something you might regret? If that's the case what the hell are you doing here with all these witnesses and with all that blood on your face?"

Pansy picks up very quickly what Blaise is putting down and runs with it. "No, Blaise. This is good. If anything happened everyone here can say that he was always here. I'll get them to swear that he was here all night. You did good, Draco. This'll be your alibi."

Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Merlin, God and whatever deity that is willing to listen – please bless their conniving Slytherin hearts.

"I didn't do anything to Hermione, but I need to get out of here…with Scorpius. She's left me and she won't be coming back…at least not by herself."

"What do you mean you need to get out of here? What do you mean she's left you?"

"I need to get out of here! It's as simple and complicated as that! Potter is going to come for me, to arrest me."

"Arrest you? Oh Draco, what did you do?"

The music suddenly cuts off and the absence of sound is so striking I feel like I went deaf. But then we hear the uproar of protests. Blaise leaves to investigate and I try to wring free from Pansy's grip. I don't want to hurt her, but… In no time at all Blaise returns, his face stricken.

"Potter's here. He looks…furious! Draco what did you do? He's asking for you."

I feel instantly faint.

"Draco, buck up." Pansy says, her voice trembling with anxiety for me. She whips out her wand again and I dimly realize that she's cleaning the blood from the side of my face. "Stop fighting me, stop it! Blaise, help me!"

"Leave me alone! I need to get Scorpius and get out of here!"

"Shut up!" Blaise shoves me hard against the wall knocking the wind out of me for a moment, but knocking sense into me. I suddenly remember that I am a wizard. I can do magic. Why the hell am I bothering to physically fight off Blaise and Pansy?

Oh yeah. Because they can do magic too.

I must have telegraphed my intent to them because Pansy quickly disarms me and Blaise catches my wand in his left arm.

"Let me go! Potter is going to kill me. He's Head of the Auror Department. He'll claim self-defence and no one will doubt him."

"Why? Did you do something to Granger? Did you hurt her?"

"No!" I vehemently press. It's the one thing on which I can profess my innocence and which, under these very limited parameters, is the truth. Unless, that is, they're asking about emotional hurt which in that case I might as well have hit her with the Avada Kedavra.

"Listen," Blaise speaks up, "We'll let you get Scorpius because I think Potter might spare Scorpius witnessing your death."

"You want me to use my son as a shield?" They have got to be joking!

"A tactical shield, that is. Potter won't kill you with a child next to you. Soft like ice cream, he is, you know that." Pansy's at his side playing the role of yes-man and nodding in sync with his words. "But you have to pull yourself together. You can't let Scorpius or Potter see you like this. Right now, you look _very_ guilty."

"I'm a Malfoy. I don't know how to look any other way." I say dumbly, pleadingly like a child. Pansy looks at me with a brief disapproving look of disgust. I feel suitably chastised. I take a deep breath and purposely shift back my thoughts of fear and loss aside as I harden my expression.

"That's it. That's the Draco Malfoy we need. Just remember that Harry Potter is about to ruin your life…again." She's right. Pansy is absolutely right. Now I'm the yes-man nodding automatically to her words. I can't bring myself to stop. I feel like I broke my neck. "Now go get Scorpius. We'll talk to Potter."

"Right." Blaise returns my wand and I head off down the hall and further into the depths of Pansy's house. I turn right at the end of the hallway and head down another long hallway before I come to the staircase that leads to the breakfast room and then head down another short flight of stairs next to the kitchen. I run past the kitchen and head to the white, glass panelled door leading to the backyard. I can hear the children's shrieks and shouts. I burst out of the door like someone kicked me through it. Those playing Quidditch don't notice me and those cheering on the game of course stop mid-cheering to give me curious stares, but they are a few feet away, so I cannot see their expressions clearly. I imagine I must look a fright. Out of the corner of my right eye I see someone approach me.

"Draco, are you alright?"

It's Daphne and right now she's making the top five on the List of People I Do Not Want to See Right Now. I hate seeing her and she knows it. Ever since Astoria's death, one of my fantasies is that Blaise divorces Daphne and she moves to Papua New Guinea or Nicaragua or some other far reaching place where the chances of me running into her is slim. Why did she have to look almost exactly like Astoria, but with blonde hair? I can see that she needs to touch-up on the potion dye that I made for her, her roots showing up startlingly white. I feel like I awakened a ghost and for a moment I just stare at her dumbfounded. Of course my first defence is to scowl at her and do what I do best – be a prick.

"Be useful for once and point me to Scorpius."

She's at first appalled, but then realizes who she's dealing with and lets out a resigned sigh, knowing that there is no way short of reconstructive facial magic that I'd ever forgive her the accident of being the physical doppelganger of my greatest regret. She opens her mouth to say something, but then her eyes widen and her mouth drops.

"What?" I snarl at her, but she's still staring at me with that stupid expression. It takes me a few moments to realize that she staring at the remnants of Astoria's wand in my left hand. My hand is bleeding lightly from the cuts of the wood and the mother of pearl hilt has a light smear of pink on it. She snatches it from my hand and stares at me with the second worst accusatory expression I've had for the night.

"Where did you find this?"

My reply seems to take forever to reach my lips. "I didn't _find_ it. . . I always had it."

"But you told the Aurors…" She trails off and she looks at me confused. I cannot believe that I will have to confess my deepest sins twice in the same night. For one shameless moment I consider backtracking and lying.

"She was very sick…" I whisper and it comes out like a croak. I cannot continue. She looks at me with no expression and for a second I think that she didn't hear me, but she did. After an eternity it seems, she replies in a low voice,

"I always thought so." It takes me a while to understand what she's saying.

She knew! She always knew!

"You…you…" I can feel a constricting sensation in my throat. Why? Why hasn't she said anything all this time? All this time when I avoided her and treated her like shit when I did see her, why hasn't she said anything?

Potter is right inside. If she wants to she can march inside and corroborate anything that Granger might have already told him. I no longer have a my-word-against-yours story. Fear grips me with a troubling intensity and I could feel a spasm fluttering in my heart.

"Father?"

Oh Scorpius! I cannot begin to explain how much I wanted to hear his voice and see his face. It's like a gasp of air after being underwater. Daphne shoves the two broken pieces of Astoria's wand inside her sweater pocket. We share a look, an understanding. She won't betray me. She won't because she considers me family and no matter what she may feel for me, I am still her sister's husband and her nephew's father. She is doing this out of a sense of duty, not because of her true feelings on whether I was right or wrong, merciful or murderous. She's doing this because that's what families do. This feeling that _I_ have failed as a family member my sense of duty is nothing new to me, yet it stings and burns with every new disappointment.

I pull Scorpius back inside, ignoring his and Daphne's protests and as soon as I shut the door behind me I hug him tightly. He tries to scramble away from me like he's being embraced by a jellyfish or something. He finally breaks free and looks around, probably hoping that none of the other children hears about this.

"What has gotten into you? Why are you here? Why are you hugging me? And why do you have on your pyjamas? Where did you even get that shirt? You look…you look Scottish."

Oh Scorpius, Scorpius, Scorpius. My sweet, darling son who is such a bitchy queen and doesn't even know it. I can't help but smirk and he watches puzzled, not knowing that as much as I love him I sometimes enjoy thinking dreadful things about him. It makes me feel better, knowing that this is only avenue I have for turning against him, something that I'd never do in reality.

"Come on, we have to go to the front."

"Why? I'm in the middle of a game! I'm about to find the snitch. Why do I have to go anywhere?"

"Because I said so! Just do what I say for one moment in your life!" He's shocked dumb. I feel horrible, but not horrible enough. I don't need him to talk. I just need him to stand at my side and look innocent enough for both of us. I tug him along and he follows automatically, like an Inferius.

I take the same route back up to the balcony overlooking the party and I can hear the music. I wonder briefly if that means that Potter left.

"Malfoy,"

I nearly jump out of my skin when from the doorway of the library Potter emerges, wand shoved in my face. Pansy and Blaise run out behind him looking grim and sour. I guess they exchanged words. I pull Scorpius out from behind me and Potter's steely expression instantly changes as he points his wand downwards. He looks surprised, but soon narrows his eyes at me. He's not stupid, despite my ardent protests, and he looks at me with barely veiled disgust.

"Malfoy, I need to speak to you…in private."

"Why? What's the matter? Is it indecent? Not words meant to be heard in polite company?"

He grits his teeth and is probably drawing on his latest fantasy of killing me – method number 2548 – to calm himself.

"Hermione," My breath catches at the mention of her name and he watches me carefully. I suddenly notice the blood on his clothes. Oh Merlin, what happened to her? He continues, "she's been bitten by the Temptatius snake."

"What!"

"The same snake that sprayed Rose last year or rather," He makes a show of checking his wristwatch before he continues, "the year before that. Healer Prakash said that he last procured the antivenin from you."

This is even worse than I imagined. Oh Granger, how on earth did you manage – I suddenly remember. The snake that got away from Rose, Scorpius and Albus! The flashes of white I'd see in the maze, the creature that's been hunting my faeries and peacocks! I turn to look at Scorpius and he seems to wilt under my stare. He feels enough guilt as it is, so I decide not to yell at him. But this is good. Guilt might keep him quiet.

"I don't have it on me,"

"Hmm, yeah. Parkinson was just telling me that you spent the night here."

I purposely avoid Pansy's gaze and try to pull in Potter's but he's staring at Scorpius, who I'm sure is looking quite surprised by that statement, but he says nothing. I step in front of him.

"Yes, I was asleep."

"In this racket?" He finally looks up at me.

"Yes." I hiss at him. He stares back at me calmly. I don't like this Harry Potter. I don't like this calm and collected Potter.

"So you were here all night?"

"Yes. Are you deaf or dumb?"

He ignores this barb and I suppress a chill.

"You should hurry up and get back to your house for the anti-venom. I'll escort you."

Yeah, right. Like I'll trust you not to slice me up into little pieces, feed me to your owl and help Pansy and Blaise look for my missing body.

"Sure. Scorpius, you coming?" I ask him like he has a choice. My poor son looks incredibly confused and can only nod dumbly. Potter looks ready to murder me with his bare hands. I grip Scorpius' hand desperately. He's the only anchor I have left.

* * *

I want Hermione badly, but how can I face her?

Potter keeps Scorpius close to him like a second shadow, a second impenetrable armour when I go back home to retrieve the potions – his insurance that I'd do what I said I was going to do. Pansy and Blaise wanted to come along, but I insisted that she must stay here. I have no doubt that Pansy will turn an unfortunate incident into a catastrophe.

It's a silent affair and Potter's gritted demeanour is grating. Scorpius, my poor boy, is confused as hell. He wants to ask questions but he can see it plainly on my face – and on Potter's – that it will be in his best interest to stay silent and still. Potter waits outside the gates with him while I head inside to retrieve the antivenin all the while thinking that this always happens to me. Not the under suspicion for attempted murder part (though that does happen with alarming frequency). No, I meant that I could never hold onto happiness for any long period of time. I'm so unhappy right now, but it happened so quickly. I suppose my mind is always prepared. Deep down I know I don't deserve to be happy.

When I return to the gates Potter's standing there casually looking at the hedges like it's some museum artwork. He stands a bit away then slowly walks up really close. He reaches out a tentative hand and touches it gently. The retractable thorns instantly shoot out, long and thin and razor-like, to wrap their prehensile claws around his arms. He pulls back quickly with a stifled cry and the cuff of his blue shirt is nearly ripped off clean. Around his wrist is a nearly perfect circle of blood. He takes out his wand, clumsy in his left hand, to heal the wound; grinding his teeth against the lingering pain.

The idiot.

He probably doesn't know his arse from his elbow when it comes to magical plants. The brambles here look very similar to the harmless vines that drape around my house, but they have two very distinct attitudes. One is lazy and doesn't like to be touched, shifting away sluggishly. The other sprouts beautiful red and white blossoms, daring you to come closer, but it is harsh and violent, putrefied with animosity. I love that hedge.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" Scorpius asks.

Potter turns around to look at us, his expression only slightly softening when he sees Scorpius and nods absently. His gaze hardens when he looks at me, though. I don't turn away first, but hold his gaze with my own hatred, only I find I can't seem to muster up enough bile and venom in the look. His expression changes to incorporate more confusion and I suppose more pity. I can't even bother to feel resentful or ashamed for his pity. I'm so tired. I just want to turn back time, so that I can return to when things were not so difficult for me. I might just have to turn it all the way back and wink right out of existence because I have no intention of living life all over again, at least not the life I've lived so far. I have a sincere and un-ironic feeling that I could make the right choice every time and I'd somehow still end up where I am – unsatisfied and deeply regretful. Do you know why I feel this way? I feel this way because I can see it in Potter's eyes as well. I saw it in Hermione's eyes too and even Weasley has the look. They made the 'right' choice and look how they ended up – not particularly happy. Now, I don't know about Potter and Weasley, but I know that when Hermione and I were together, the look faded. We were lighter, freer and generally happier. I need to get her back, but how can I face her now?

"Are you ready?" He asks. Our momentary insight into our collective dissatisfaction has disappeared and he's back to looking like the scar-headed, funny-looking idiot that I know him to be.

I nod and we approach him. Scorpius grabs my hand and I make sure to grab Potter's throbbing wrist. He gives me a look of boiling contempt before he apparates us to St. Mungo's.

* * *

I spot Healer Prakash instantly and race up to him.

"Where is she?" I ask as I hand over the vials of antivenin which he absently accepts.

He looks at me confused for a moment, looking back from Potter to me. "Mr. Malfoy, you didn't need to personally come all the way here. Do you know the patient? Are you and Mrs. Weasley close?"

"Yes," It's now or never. "We're…we're together." I say vaguely enough.

He looks shocked and looks to Potter for confirmation. Potter gives him a resigned and exasperated look, mirroring my own, and it spurs the Healer into action as he no doubt files that tidbit of information for future reference. He races off into a room and we're right on his heels, but we end up running smack into an invisible barrier and I damn nearly break my nose. This must be how they keep themselves in job. I think I need a Healer. My nose is not broken, but boy does it ache. Potter is rubbing his shoulder and Scorpius struggles not to laugh at our impromptu slapstick routine.

"Sorry," Healer Prakash says with his back to us, "no entry until we're finished with the patient."

He slams the door in our faces and we're left to stand there looking utterly out of place and useless. The corridor is eerily quiet. No one is around except us. Scorpius goes to sit on one of the blue chairs lined against the opposite wall and Potter turns to me.

"What happened tonight?" He looks like he's barely keeping it under control.

"You know what happened. The same snake that sprayed Rose bit Hermione."

"How did that happen?"

"I don't know. It was an accident I suppose. I was…" I remember just in time my lie from earlier. "I was not there, remember?"

"Why was she at your house if you weren't there all night?"

"I wasn't planning on staying at Pansy's house all night. It just sort of happened."

"So you locked her away on your estate?"

"I didn't –"

"If you didn't, then why couldn't she get out?"

"Clearly she did!"

"Do you always let your guests exit through your hostile thorny hedges?"

That's what she did?! Oh Granger, Granger, you idiot! You moron! I'm torn. I want to march into her room and ask her if she's an idiot. Doesn't she know what those plants would do to her? Why did she think that I'd hurt her? Was it really worth risking your life, you idiot?

But on the other hand I want to take her in my arms and kiss her wounds and tell her that she'll be fine because the wounds will heal and the pain will go away, that she's braver than me and that she'll get better soon.

"Why was she running from you?"

"I told you I wasn't–"

"Don't fuck with me!" The hit to the face knocks me off balance and I stumble backwards. He rushes towards me and pushes me up the wall; my head hit the wall with a heavy thud. I don't get time to pull out my wand before he has his shoved under my neck.

"Father!" Scorpius shouts as he tries to come between us.

"I warned you! I warned you, Malfoy! I told you that if you hurt her, I will kill you."

"Mr. Potter, please!"

"Potter, my son! My son is here." I hate how my voice sounds, but I really don't want my son to see this.

"Mr. Potter, please!"

"I didn't hurt her. I would never hurt her."

He releases me, but still my heart does not calm down. I know Potter. He has anger management issues and would not hesitate to kill me. He was always someone who would willingly deal with consequences later.

"Scorpius, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He can't even finish his lie, but he is calming down when he sees the look of barely disguised horror on my son's face. I can see clearly what my son is thinking – so, this is Harry Potter; the wizard who takes down Dark Lords. Scorpius looks terrified for me.

Scorpius goes back to sit on one of the blue chairs lined against the opposite wall. Potter follows him, but I seem incapable of moving in a forward direction. My foot is doing that weird jiggling again, like it has a mind of its own.

"Father, come sit with me."

I move slowly. His voice sounds distant. I walk over and take a seat next to him with Potter sitting on the other side of my son. We sit there quietly for about five to ten minutes, but I'm struggling to keep it under control. I'm feeling suddenly cold, my teeth chattering. I tilt my head up and there is a shadow on the overhead light, a vague silhouette maybe; but then it swoops down on me. It cloaks me in its darkness and I feel strangled, like a weight is sitting on my chest. Somewhere, I hear like a buzzing sound near my ears, though it more feels like it's coming from inside me. I try to fling it away, lash out at this thing, but my hand passes through nothing. Absolute terror grips me and I feel this darkness pulsating around me, my core burning white with rippling fear.

"Get off me! Stop it!" I'm hyperventilating. I know it and I start talking nonsense. "Stop it! I can't lose her! I can't lose her and Scorpius! You won't take them!"

"Malfoy!"

"Father!"

I can feel hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. It takes me a moment to see the clear blue eyes of my son and the bright green ones that belong to Potter. Scorpius looks terrified for me. I feel like a prat.

"Malfoy, you're having a panic attack. Calm down. She'll be alright. Just take deep breaths."

I ignore Potter and focus on Scorpius. "I'll be alright, son. I'll be fine." I don't believe myself, so I _know_ he doesn't buy it. I try to put more conviction into my tone. "I'm fine. I'm just tired, is all. Sit down. I'm fine."

He looks at me for a few moments longer and I manage a weak, watery smile. It's all he'll get so he takes comfort in that and sits back down next to me. I can feel his worried eyes on me. Potter however, takes his seat next to me instead. I can feel his eyes on me too.

Oh Merlin no. I think I'm having a nervous breakdown. Again. This will be my fourth. My first was when I was tasked to kill Dumbledore. The second was when I was on trial. The third came when Astoria died. And now this. I should be used to it by now. But no.

I feel like a complete idiot. I'm jumping at shadows. I was literally close to running away, taking my son's hand and disapparating out of here to…to…anywhere but here. But the thought that I might never see her again, that she might die and it'll be because of my act of cowardice . . . I feel my leg jiggling again and I tamp down on the urge forcefully. I grip the sides of the chairs, my knuckles pale.

"Malfoy,"

The tone is soft and I turn to look at Potter. He looks worried. He probably think it's catching and that's why he's worried because otherwise I can't see a reason for him to care. I know if I were to go plummeting merrily into madness he'd be thinking of an infinite number of things that he cares more about than my mental health.

"Hermione was the same way when I found her."

"Same way?" I turn to him confused. The stress of trying to sound normal is wrecking me. I am a bundle of exposed nerves and anything might trigger me. Still, I try.

"Paranoid. I was willing to blame it on the snake bite, but you're acting…weird as well." He's speaking really quietly and from the corner of my eye I can see Scorpius struggling to listen.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What happened? What has scared the both of you so?"

I don't know what he's talking about. At least, that's the look I try to give him. I can feel waves of his disapproval crashing over me as he waits for an answer. I stare straight ahead.

"She'll tell me, you know. She'll wake up and tell me what happened tonight. You did something to her, didn't you? I thought you'd change, Malfoy. Why can't you just pick a side? Why can't you just ruin your own life? You've ruined your wife's life and now you want to ruin Hermione's. Do you want to ruin Scorpius' too? If you just do the right thing, these things wouldn't have happened. Why can't you just be good or just be bad? Why is it so hard?"

"Because this is my life." I hiss at him. "Even when I do good, it's only just good enough for me to fuck up again. That's my life. I'm not meant to be good."

I draw back from him allowing him to soak in the full depth of what I just said. It's one of my many breathtaking confessions of the night.

His face is relatively impassive, but his stare is venomous and simultaneously pitiful. I stare ahead at the closed door. My future lies behind that door. It seems to me that everything is balancing on a mighty fulcrum, but it's going to turn one way eventually and given the way my life goes, I suspect which way it'll turn.

I take Scorpius' hand in my own for comfort. Potter thinks I'm getting ready to flee and he grabs my arm as well. I try to shrug off his filthy hand and this brief, subdued struggle ensues. At that moment the door opens and we freeze. I'm the first to my feet. Scorpius is second because he is still tethered to me and then Potter.

"Well, the good news is that Mrs. Weasley is out of the danger area and is resting comfortably." Healer Prakash says. "Thank you Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter. You saved her life with your quick actions."

I feel immensely relieved. But now what? What's going to happen when she wakes up?

"She was paranoid like that because of the snake bite and because of another drug that was in her system." He says carefully.

My eyebrows shoot up at this. What drug? Like I need to add poisoning to my rapidly growing list of crimes tonight. I have a slight suspicion that I know what he's referring to, but of course I say nothing.

"There were elements of a psychedelic potion in her system. It's something new that's on the streets. A lot of young wizards have taken to using it. It's probably for the good in this case, as it caused her to feel less pain or rather to be less distressed by the pain of the snake bite and the cuts from the plant."

Less distressed by pain? My mind instantly clocks on the cut near my temple and the knock around I got from Potter. I really haven't thought of it all night, though to be fair I had other things on my mind.

"People sometimes experience the illusion of movement of static surfaces like walls breathing or shifting," Again, my mind jumps to my extreme feeling of the mausoleum tilting. He continues,

"They might have after image-like trails of moving objects, an intensification of colors and brightness on objects and blurred vision. Many of the basic visual effects resemble the phosphenes or those lights we see after applying pressure to the eye. There may be auditory effects such as echo-like distortions of sounds, changes in ability to discern concurrent auditory stimuli, and a general intensification of the experience of music. They may also experience hypersexuality, an inability to focus or follow simple commands and simple thought disorder."

Hypersexuality? Check. I had more gratuitous sex tonight than a shelf full of porn. Intensification of the experience of music? I remember the music at Pansy's house. Check. Was it really that loud or did it just feel that way to me?

"Sometimes a patient may experience a bit of mania where they feel that they must complete a goal, that their goals trump all else no matter the consequences."

Well I could kind of understand now why Hermione would even consider going through that hedge. Clearly, she was out of her mind. And I might be as well, but I no longer suspect what _may_ have caused it. I _know_ what caused it.

Stupid Pansy and that stupid, fucking wine! Why, why hasn't she been to prison yet? I'm going to kill her!

"Healer Prakash, Hermione and I, earlier tonight we, I mean, _she_ consumed…" I chance a look at Scorpius. I do not want my son to know what I've been up to tonight. "…_accidentally_, she _might have_ had something that _may_ cause those symptoms."

I could not be more evasive if I tried. I'm a Malfoy. I know what 'implicate' means. Potter rolls his eyes.

"Accidentally?" Healer Prakash asks.

"It's a…_possibility_."

"Well, I suppose that coupled with the snake bite caused Mrs. Weasley to act the way she did. But have no fear wizards, she'll be right as rain in no time. Let her rest and you can visit her in a few hours."

He claps me on the shoulder, shakes Potter's hand and ruffles Scorpius' hair (to his extreme annoyance) before he takes his leave. Potter and I stare at each other. I can practically see his brain turning and with each thought he frowns even more. I save him the trouble.

"Whatever she said or will say is inadmissible. Clearly, she was…under the influence…accidentally of course…"

Scorpius looks up at me with confusion. Soon his face will stick that way.

Potter stares at me, opening his mouth to no doubt tell me something vile. He looks down at Scorpius and I can tell that whatever elaborate murder-plan he was concocting has been pushed back.

"Mafloy, you are despicable. But, thank you for the potions." He says and each word comes out like he's pulling out a tooth. I only nod. My mind is racing. What does this mean for Hermione and me? Will she remember?

Potter comes closer to me to whisper in my ear,

"I may not find out today or tomorrow, but I will get proof and I will come for you." I have nothing to say to him.

I turn to leave and this time Potter does not stop me. I don't feel any better than when I came here. I just barely escaped jail time (for the time being), but what about Hermione and me? What about my chance at happiness again. Again I feel like I'm dangling off the edge of a cliff. I fell, but this time someone has grabbed my hand at the last minute. Will she let me go again?

We apparate to the front of the gates at my house. I let go of Scorpius' hand and he instantly barrages me with questions which I ignore.

"Go inside. I have something to do outside here, okay?"

I feel sorry for him. I feel like whatever closeness we were getting back is slowly slipping away from me. He looks frustrated and stomps off towards the manor, but turns back around.

"You were terrified you were going to lose her, weren't you?"

I nod, avoiding his eyes.

"You can't go through that again."

My head snaps up at his insight.

"It'll break you, Father. But if it happens, I want you to know that you still have me, okay?"

It was the biggest show of affection I've gotten from him since…since he was eight or something and I'm speechless. Before things get too mushy however, he turns and walks away to the house.

I stare at him wondering how he could have gotten all that maturity. I certainly don't have it. When I was his age I was busy having my prelude to my first nervous breakdown. I turn my back to him and start whispering the spells that affect the wards surrounding my home.

* * *

Mother has suggested, or rather strongly recommended, that I get away for a while. Of course she wants me to come over to France with her. Blaise and Pansy are adamant that we take a vacation somewhere hot and far away from England. Nott is insisting that our American business empire needs to be taken care of and he wants me to focus on that hands-on. I understand their concern, but I don't want to run from the media hailstorm leaving Hermione to face it alone. Yes, everyone by now knows that Granger and I are in a relationship. Healer Prakash is the biggest gossiper I've ever met. Hermione's divorce from Weasley has become public fodder and once again we are at the center of the gossip mill. Neither of us comments on their statements. We don't have to. They know it's true.

I haven't heard from her, though Healer Prakash is the one that keeps me informed on her health. She's much better now; still weak, but fine.

I go to the train station bravely with Scorpius and, Merlin help me if I ever say that I don't love my son, because during the stares and the whispers he holds his head high and dares anyone to tell him one remark about his father. He holds my hand proudly and even hugs me when he leaves. He runs off to join Rose, Hugo and Albus. They spot me and offer up a tentative smile and wave. I don't know what they mean by that. What did Hermione tell them? How did she explain her hospital stay? Do they approve? They could never. What did Potter tell them?

Then I see her. I'm not expecting her to be out of the hospital yet, let alone be at King's Cross. But I suppose Hermione would never let a little thing like psychosis hold her back.

She looks pale and tired, but otherwise normal. Today was not one of her good hair days. She's talking to a woman I don't know. I stare at her back, willing her to turn around. She doesn't. I stare at her some more. At one point she gesticulates to something in my direction and turns to look directly at me. We lock eyes for a moment, but then she simply turns away from me. Eventually the train takes off and I leave, passing directly in front of her. She doesn't even so much pause in her conversation.

Wait a minute. What if she doesn't remember me? What if the snake messed up her memory that badly? Déjà vu hits me and I leave the station feeling sick.

I head back home that evening feeling dull like the weather. It's almost six and it's darkening quickly. I'm confused. I thought for sure that after all the rumors Rose and Hugo and Albus would view me as an embarrassment, an irritation and that my presence would not be welcomed. Instead, they look like they were making the effort to accept me.

But what's the point if I won't be welcomed Hermione's in life?

Five months pass and I don't see her or hear from her. The jumpiness has left me. I suppose that not only does she not want to arrest me, she doesn't want anything to do with me – well, providing that she remembers anything about me at all. Potter has yet to kick down my door, so I suppose all is well with her. She goes about her life – she passes her bill. Everybody on death row for longer than ten years will escape the Kiss. I go on with my life…not really. I'm disengaged from life; only doing what people expect, not what I want. I go to America with Nott. I go to the Bahamas with Pansy and Blaise (Daphne refuses the vacation, thank Merlin – she's been avoiding me lately, not that I'm complaining). I spend more time with Mother in France. Life goes on.

Still, I am unhappy.

When I return from a two week stay with Mother in France, I turn the corner of the house and stop dead in my tracks when I spot Granger sitting on the outside steps leading to the side parlour. She's wearing her plum–coloured robes of the Wizengamot. I feel instantly nauseous. She stands when she sees me and we just stare at each other for a while. I'm wondering if she remembers everything that happened. Has she come to arrest me herself? She speaks first.

"You've included me in your wards?"

"More than that,"

She sits back down and I slowly make my way to her and join her on the step. Knowing Hermione Granger to be the most sensible witch of her age (despite her brief lapse in judgment these past few months as evidenced by her relationship with me), me trying to convince her to stay with me after the debacle on New Year's is equivalent to a knightly quest. Still I must try.

"Why are you here? It's been five months."

"I came to thank you for the potions."

"Oh. It's rather delayed, but you're welcome."

"It's Friday. We usually went out on Fridays." She says apropos of nothing.

"I'm glad to hear that you remembered that. I thought you forgot me."

"I could never. You, you're unforgettable. I had to take time to deal…"

We seem to be avoiding one particular topic and we sit there silently for a long stretch watching the sun set in the distance over the orchard until she says,

"If I were in your shoes…I'd probably do the same thing." She says quietly. I turn to look at her. "I can't stand to see others suffer. I always accuse Harry of having Hero Syndrome, but I have it bad too. And who knew Malfoy, that you're a hero or rather, an anti-hero as well."

I don't know what to say. I have and probably never will be the hero.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you're not a bad person. Everyone's made you out to be, but you're not a bad person. They've taken all of your worst qualities, qualities that we all possess, and exaggerated it in you. Don't get me wrong, you're not that nice," She says it with a small smile, "but you're not evil. You're not a coward. To do the things you did, you had to be brave. You're not as self-serving as you'd like to think. It's not inevitable that you'll end up one particular way because that's what everyone thinks. You…" She chokes up and I am alarmed. I'm not good with crying women. When they do that I usually end up killing them. I mentally cringe at the morbid joke. When did I reach this state? "You…you're so much better than you know."

I'm afraid to touch her. I'm still unsure where we stand. It seems that legally, she understands my reasoning and won't be arresting me. That's a relief. But what about us? I choose my words carefully.

"Well, the truth is I know I wasn't that squeaky clean before. I left some damage back in the day and I continue to do so. I'm a walking disaster. Well, most of the time anyway. I mean, I know that the person I used to be is still in there somewhere, but long as he stays where he should, well, that I can reconcile myself with. Everything's that's happened to me: becoming a Death Eater, serving time in prison, losing my father, my wife and child, my reputation and nearly losing you - I consider what happened a sort of redemption. Everything's been leading me to be a better person, I think. I'm trying, Hermione. It's not easy, but I'm trying. I know it's late, but I'm trying. As they say, better late than never, right?"

She only nods morosely with numbness like I told her she has two months to live. Tears are streaming down her face. Like Scorpius, she has an ugly cry face. I have to hold back a chuckle if I want to live. Suddenly, she turns to face me and fear grips me as I wonder if I did laugh out loud.

"Well aren't you going to hand me a handkerchief? I know you have one!"

I fumble around like an idiot and pull out a handkerchief. She blows her nose noisily and it only confirms that I'm in love with her because I don't pull away from her in disgust.

"You alright, now?"

She nods. "I've spoken to the children and to the family and Ron. They all have very strong opinions. But Harry, he…he had a lot of opinions too and he was highly influential on their opinions. I don't think they like what he had to say."

I feel a pressure around my chest.

"They don't like that you saved my life. They don't like to know that you have genuine feelings for me. They'd much prefer you to be…to be the villain they've always known you to be. They know that you're not a bad person."

Huh! Well would you look at that? Potter must have been drinking that green fairy potion too for him to go home and give the Weasels a good report on me. But just to be clear,

"So, you're saying that they _don't_ mind you being with me."

"They reluctantly accept that you're not the devil incarnate."

"Huh! And you…"

"I agree with them."

"So that means…"

"For heaven's sake, Malfoy! I want to be with you. Happy?"

She sounds like a bloody harpy, but I'm so happy I don't even bother to tell her. I only grin stupidly. She smiles and I take her hand.

"I'm not living here with you, though. I'm with you now, but I'm not insane."

I open my mouth to argue, but really, I think, who in their right mind would want to live here? Maybe she's right. Maybe it's time to leave the past behind and move onto the future with its brighter possibilities. I still have a chance.

* * *

**A/N**: FINAL CHAPTER! WOOHOO! Only the epilogue up next.

So, here's hoping all seven of my reviewers from the last chapter review again. You are the Magnificent Seven. However, it would be nice if others reviewed as well, so that they too could be Magnificent :D What did you think of this chapter and this story as a whole? I had a lot of fun writing it, especially Draco. I hope I kept him and Hermione in character.


	20. Epilogue: Harry

**Epilogue: Harry**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter

**A/N**: I am so, so sorry that this is late. Please forgive me. It's my first really late update for this story, so you can forgive me, right? :)

* * *

Boxing Day again. This time it's at my house. Ron and I are on the couch nursing our tumblers of firewhiskeys and generally trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. It's difficult because Ron, on the suggestion of Padma of course, insists that we watch some old Hindi movie. Like a sponge, that man. On one hand, it's a genius idea. The movie is three hours long and I made Ginny promise that she wouldn't disturb us until after the movie was finished. I just bought us three hours of peace from nagging. I was lucky with that negotiation, but unfortunately I used up every bit of luck I would ever posses and now I am stuck here withering away in front of the television. If they break into song and dance one more time…

"You know Ron, what really bugs me is that you're not even with Padma."

"Ah, Harry, Harry, Harry," He responds shaking his head in sage-like amusement, "You have to realize that if the person that you're interested in likes Hindi movies then you should make the effort to like what that person likes. Compromise and effort are key qualities to a successful relationship."

Who is this person? I shake my head in amusement and hold back a laugh. It's men like Ron who get upset when women say that men will do anything to get a leg over.

"You think I'm joking. It's good to be divorced, Harry. Not that I'm saying you should divorce Ginny," he amends quickly, "but now that I'm divorced, all the things that I learnt I can apply to a new relationship."

He makes a bit of sense. I suppose it's better to look at divorce not as something that you lost, but rather the lessons gained.

"So, things are moving ahead for the two of you?"

"We're still friends, but I think we're heading in the right direction. I mean, she agreed to come to the Boxing Day lunch. That's usually a good sign if Hermione and Malfoy are anything to go by. For all we know, he probably fancied her from long ago and now look, they're married with children."

"Yeah, a man calls a woman a Mudblood and bam! Twenty-five years later she falls for him. You're onto something there, Ron. Any year now Padma will come round."

He nods in agreement, but then catches my sarcasm and he spins to hit me a glare. It doesn't last long and we chuckle lightly. I'm just glad that he can now make jokes about Hermione and Draco. Two years ago he could barely look her in the eye. No matter what jokes I make about Padma, I know that she has been instrumental in helping Ron move on from the divorce and for that I'll be ever grateful.

"But you're happy?" I ask him.

"I think so, I don't know. I'm happy Mione's happy, even if it's with _him_. And though it was rough, at least now we have a chance at being happy. At the time it was hurtful, but now I can see that it was for the best – well, not being with _him_ is the best, rather us being with people that we can genuinely be with because we want to be with them, not because it's the right thing to do. Know what I mean?"

He's giving me a pointed look and I take a sip of my firewhiskey to ease the tension. Since when did he get so insightful?

Just then Luna sticks her head into the living room and I inwardly groan. Talk about timing. Ron gives me another pointed look that I ignore. "Lunch is ready. Also, heads up. Hermione's here…and guess who actually came along this year?"

Ron and I exchange looks. Ron looks shell shocked and makes me wonder if his little speech just now was pure bravado.

"Malfoy's here? He actually came?"

I'm actually not too surprised. Hermione's on her seventh month and though it's unlikely, I know Malfoy wouldn't want to risk a repeat of what happened to Astoria when she was seven months pregnant. It's understandable that he'd stick to Hermione like a wet shower curtain. Luna leaves and I get up to follow her. I stop at the door and look back at Ron who still hasn't moved from the sofa.

"You alright, mate?"

"Yeah, yeah, you know. It's just…I haven't actually seen her with _him_. I mean, we see each other and talk all the time, but it's like through the Floo or with Owls or with the kids are around. She's a good and sensitive witch. She never brings up _him_ in any of our conversation. I can't even remember the last time I've seen him. I even sorta forgot that she was pregnant with _his _demon spawn. It's easy to…to pretend, you know."

"Look, if you want we can duck out and sit it out here all afternoon."

"No, no. I'm fine. Padma and I were talking about this, actually. I fucked up my marriage, Harry. I should've tried harder to save it and now I gotta face the consequences. Mione's happy and I have the chance to be happy and that's all that matters, right?"

"Is she happy?"

"She is. She really is happy with him. She doesn't have to say it. He makes her happy." His face darkens a bit at this, but he quickly shakes away the depression. "I guess at the end of the day that's all the matters, right?" He says as he gets up and we walk out to the backyard.

Hermione didn't come to the last Boxing Day lunch because apparently Narcissa extended the olive branch and invited her to France for the Christmas with the Malfoys. After the storm Ron created calmed down, we all agreed that if Narcissa could make the effort, so could we. Thus, when Hermione bounces in with the children and Malfoy in tow, we plaster on our smiles and try our best to be gracious…within reason of course.

I'm glad that they're here for the lunch. I see Hermione all the time, but Malfoy has made it his business to avoid me during the last two years, so I never get the chance to see him interact with his new family. Ron and I stand near the backdoor and silently observe the scene. No one notices us as yet. Malfoy pulls out a chair for Hermione and generally fusses over her until she gives him an I'm-not-an-invalid-but-if-you-don't-stop-being-a-mother-hen-I'll-make-you-an-invalid look. He backs off and takes a seat next to Rose. The children are in the middle of a useless argument.

"Every year it's the same argument. You girls always want Scorpius on your team." Hugo says.

"But he's the best and if you have girls against the boys teams, the boys get an automatic advantage." Rose counters.

"You don't even play Quidditch." Hugo argues.

"That's not the point."

"What's the matter?" Hermione asks.

"The girls want Scorpius to play for their team." Malfoy answers her.

"I thought we already established that Scorpius is playing for the other side." Rose answers with a cheeky grin at Scorpius and Al. Al face flushes as if we all don't already know that he and Scorpius aren't 'just really good mates.'

"I see what you did there. Not funny, Froggy!" Scorpius mock sneers at her and absently rubs Al's shoulder in sympathy. Al looks like he wants to faint, but eventually calms down when Scorpius whispers something to him. It's a rare public display on Scorpius' part and I honestly think he didn't even realize he did it until he sees his father staring at him. Scorpius quickly pulls back his hand from Al's shoulder, but seems to change his mind mid-movement. Jerkily and daringly he takes Al hand in his own, looking at his father the entire time.

Now this is interesting. Al told me recently that Malfoy said he'll treat him like he's part of the family. Apparently, Scorpius is just as doubtful about that declaration as I am.

"Maybe you should just not play any Quidditch this year." Hermione says seemingly oblivious to this game of wills going on at the side of her.

Malfoy speaks up, his eyes still trained on his son and Al. "Well, are the odds really that stacked? Scorpius is the best seeker and Albus is the best chaser. The two of you are…well matched, no matter the team you're on."

Scorpius breaks into an even rarer big grin, and so too does Hermione, at Malfoy's double meaning words, so I guess she was only playing dumb to the silent interaction going on beside her.

"So then what would we do? It's tradition. What do you want us to do? Play Gobstones or something? Only an idiot would play Gobstones instead of Quidditch." Hugo says.

"Scorpius, but didn't you ask me to get you that book on Gobstones moves?" Hermione teases him.

"Mum!"

That one word has both she and Malfoy speechless. I'm betting it's the first time he's ever called her that and I'm also betting that he did it as his own way of saying thanks to his father and step-mother for being supportive.

"Oh, so _you're_ an idiot?" Hugo asks and the table dissolves into more ruthless teasing going back and forth between the children and the adults.

They look like a perfectly normal and loving family and I can tell that it hurts Ron to the core, so much so that he has to leave the scene for a while.

When Ron comes back out to the backyard and says hello to everyone there's a brief moment of awkward where it feels like all sound was momentarily sucked out. Hermione and Malfoy stare up at him, unsure of their next move. But then, Padma steps out from the kitchen and she reads the play quickly. She takes Ron's hand in hers and Ron runs through all the reds on a colour chart. Malfoy suppresses a snarky remark. Instead, he focuses entirely on Hermione, on Rose, Hugo, Scorpius and Al. He doesn't acknowledge any of the other Weasleys or Potters, but I never expected him to. They serve no purpose in his life and he's already doing more than enough by being in their presence. His complete focus in on his family and that's good enough for him. Ron and I might as well be invisible.

On one hand I'm slightly annoyed by that, but on the other hand I'm glad to know where he draws the line. He's already proven to me that he'll do anything for his mother and father. Now, that circle has increased to include Hermione, their children and whoever Scorpius chooses to date. Malfoy would do anything to ensure the safety and happiness of the ones he loved. That's why I whole-heartedly believe he killed his first wife.

When lunch is over I excuse myself from the table and head into the study. I sit behind the desk and take out the package that I had hidden in a drawer with a false bottom. Everything is as it was since I first received the box almost one year ago. I re-read the letter for probably the thousandth time.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I hope that you will find this very useful if you can fix it. I know it will bring closure to certain events. I've deliberated and deliberated, but I decided to take the decision to betray a family member out of my hands. I don't know anymore what the right thing to do is. However, if you think the right thing should be done, then do with this what you will.

Anonymous.

I look down at the broken wand with the mother-of-pearl handle still smeared with Draco Malfoy's dried blood – I had it tested. I know that this is Astoria Malfoy's wand. If I fix this I could prove that Malfoy killed his wife. I know I can or else the mysterious sender of the wand would never have given it to me.

To do the right thing. Sometimes the right thing and what I want to do don't always overlap.

"Aren't you coming to watch the game?"

Startled, I look up to see Hermione. She's staring at me intensely. She looks down at the broken pieces of wand in the simple cushioned, pine box. She looks back up at me again. She does not look the least bit surprised and I know she knows. She knows he killed his wife and still, still she chose to be with him. She reaches over and closes the box with her right hand.

"He's going to hurt you. It's…it's _bound_ to happen. You know this. Why, why are you with him?"

We stare at each other for a while. It would be so easy. I can take away what she has with Malfoy so easily. But she's my best friend and I would never hurt her, even if I _know_ that eventually Malfoy will.

She takes up the box and walks over to the fireplace. Stupidly, I allow her. With a flick of her wand a fire roars to life.

"Why? Because he's so much better than we know."

She throws the evidence of what Malfoy used to be into the flames. She turns her back on it and leaves the room. I still sit and watch the flames with a mixture of resignation and relief.

* * *

**A/N**: And that's it, folks! Yay me! _Another_ finished fic. What did you all think? I would like to thank my reviewers and all the people that supported me, especially my guest reviewers. I couldn't reply to you, so…THANK YOU! I also want to thank the people that alerted and favourite me, like Blue Luver5000, FemAguila, romeondjuliet4-ever, v0lpe, onebaddesire and Fallen Emo Angel. There are others and I want to say thanks to all of you! So, **review please** and let me know what you thought!


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